Chuck & Sarah vs the Recruits
by ninjaVanish
Summary: S3 AU. Sequel to Chuck & Sarah vs the Bunker. Chuck & Sarah train the new generation of Intersect Agents, while trying to balance their new status quo as parents. The end is near.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the Final story in a trilogy that encompasses _Chuck & Sarah vs Themselves_, _Chuck & Sarah vs the Bunker_, and now _Chuck & Sarah vs the Recruits_. It was originally all one story idea, but I had the part that became Bunker mostly written before the first bits in what became Themselves.

If you haven't read either of those stories, I'd really suggest that you do so before reading on.

For one thing, I've tried to refrain from hitting anyone with the stupid stick, up to and including the villains. So, we've diverged _just _a _little _bit from Season 3 at this point.

This story takes place a few weeks after the end of _Chuck & Sarah vs the Bunker_, with Chuck and Sarah just returned to Burbank briefly to catch up with everybody before moving to the DC area for their new job working to select and train the next generation of Intersect agents. Like I said, just a little bit of a divergence from canon.

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><p>Chapter 1:<p>

Burbank, California

September 7, 2011

Casa Grimes(atowski)

"Gung," Morgan said, fumbling for the coffee tin.

Chuck managed a thin smile. "Urg," he said and plopped himself down at the table.

"Glb," Lisa said happily from her position in her father's arms, peering at Morgan in curiosity over Chuck's shoulder.

Morgan shook his head and turned on the faucet to fill the coffee pot. "How is she happy this morning," he complained. "She was crying all _night_!"

Chuck shrugged. "One of those things, I guess. And it wasn't that bad," he said. "I mean, she went down for two whole uninterrupted hours from three to five."

"Not that bad? Not that bad!" Morgan sputtered.

Lisa tensed in Chuck's arm, which he knew was a precursor to a huge outburst. Her face crinkled and began turning red, and Chuck sighed. He pushed his chair back and stood so he could jiggle the baby on his shoulder, which she seemed to enjoy. "Indoor voice, Morg. Anything over 45.3 decibels sets her off. And it's better than last week isn't it?"

"That never gets old," a gravelly voice said from the doorway to the hall. Chuck turned, arching an eyebrow at his wife, who was leaning against the doorjamb and fussing with her hair where it was sticking up in a huge fan of ridiculous bed-head. "I can't get the pre-emptive cry-stopping thing you do to work, but for _you, _it's all giggles and smiles all the time. There's no justice in this world." Sarah let out an overly theatrical sigh, then managed a grin, but it was feeble. There were dark circles under her eyes, Chuck noticed at last. "Is there coffee?"

"Five minutes," Morgan said.

Sarah groaned and turned to bong her head softly against the wall. "I could have used those extra five minutes, guys. Unlike you, I have to get up every time she does."

"You know we can work around that," Chuck said. "This is the twenty-first century. They've got this amazing new invention called a bottle."

Sarah scowled at him. "No formula," she insisted.

Morgan flushed. "Oh god, can we change the subject?"

"Sorry," Sarah said, striding into the living room and stretching her arms out. "Here, gimme my girl."

"Your's?" Chuck said, half-turning to keep possession of his little bundle of baby girl.

"Giggly-cuddly is mine," Sarah said. "You agreed."

"Maybe you agreed. _I_ didn't agree to that," he shot back with a good-natured chuckle. "Go back to bed, I'll bring you some coffee when it's done."

"Uh-uh," Sarah said, with a brief, pointed glance downward. "Gimme, the girls are about to explode here, and Lisa hasn't eaten since five."

"Agh, you're gross," Morgan grumbled from the kitchen. "No breast feeding in the living room. Don't make me go find the roommate agreement!" He stormed off in search of the document anyway, pontificating and talking to himself under his breath as he went.

Chuck and Sarah made the hand-off, and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "That's it?" Sarah complained.

He smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "Three to five this morning wasn't enough? Look who's insatiable this morning."

Sarah frowned and tapped her chin in thought, as if weighing that information, before she matched the grin and went up on her tiptoes to give him a smooch. "Fair enough, you're forgiven. Still, you've got me accustomed to a higher level of smoochyness."

Chuck shrugged. "No good deed goes unpunished, I guess."

Sarah snorted. "Something like that. Though, I didn't think you were into that particular fetish. Have you been holding out on me?"

Chuck laughed softly and leaned forward to rest his forehead against his wife's. "Nope, all my secrets are laid bare. Well... the big ones."

"And what does that mean?" Sarah demanded.

He shook his head. "Come on, hon, you're always saying a woman must maintain an air of mystery. Double standard much?" She narrowed her eyes and scowled playfully. "Anyway, I'd better get changed out of my pjs, I'm biting the bullet today and going with Morgan to the zoo."

"Speaking of the Buy More," Sarah said. "I still have to interview Jeff and Lester; you want to help me put on my old lady makeup again?"

"Maybe later," Chuck said. "I'll try not to be down there for very long."

Sarah nodded, and let him go, but as Chuck was heading for the bedroom, she darted forward and goosed him. Chuck leapt nearly a foot in the air, but by the time he had spun around to stare in shocked accusation, Sarah was holding Lisa up in front of her face and making googly eyes at her daughter. A more innocent scene never existed in the history of the universe.

Chuck wasn't buying it. "Now you're using our daughter as a prop," he said.

Sarah grinned around Lisa a shrugged one shoulder without the least bit of sheepishness. "Get used to it," she said and stuck her tongue out at him.

"I don't have to put up with this," Chuck said, turning for the bedroom once more. He was a little surprised when she didn't follow him, but when he glanced over his shoulder, Sarah was sitting on the couch, lifting Lisa over her head and then bringing her down to nuzzle against her.

Sarah merely smiled at Chuck's not-so-deftly faked indignation and sat down on the sofa. Lisa was starting to fuss and reach for her breast; Sarah tried a quick lift and nuzzle, which had distracted the two-month old from time to time in the past, without success. With Morgan's 'no-breastfeeding-in-the-living-room' edict fresh in her mind, she thought about joining Chuck in the bedroom. Then again, shirtless Chuck was always hard to resist, and Sarah didn't want to risk the crying jag that would likely become inevitable if she put Lisa back in her portable crib while she indulged herself with Chuck.

Morgan would just have to get over his squeamishness she decided, pulled up the Faux Paws t-shirt she'd stolen, tugged down one of the straps on her maternity bra and let Lisa latch on. After a minute or two, Sarah became restless. She'd never been able to sit still and breast feed, and so she quickly found herself pacing the apartment. Her circuit took her into the kitchen, where she checked the coffee pot: still only half full.

Then, she cocked her head to one side, eyebrow perking up. Her 'spy'dey-sense was tingling, as she'd told Chuck once, to a groan and a comment about puns being the lowest form of comedy. Sitting in the sink were a pair of cereal bowls, still with some brightly colored sugary bits in the bottom, on closer inspection, as well as a couple larger than usual coffee mugs. The math was easy; one of those over-sized mugs was at least three cups, and Morgan's coffee maker made 9 cups. Her husband and his erstwhile best friend could easily have finished a full pot.

Sarah took a couple steps to the trash can and lifted the lid. A used coffee filter lay on top of the older trash. Her eyes narrowed and she turned toward the bedroom. Something hinky was going on.

The doorbell rang, and Sarah froze. "Anybody wanna get that?" she said, loudly enough to carry through the whole apartment. It wasn't _quite_ a shout, but close.

She sighed grumpily and pulled Lisa away from her breakfast gingerly. The little one made a sound of protest, and Sarah cooed down at her soothingly. "Once I get rid of them, I'll finish feeding you, just don't go all fire alarm-ey on me, deal?" Lisa didn't so much agree as she just didn't object more strenuously on the instant, which was better than nothing. Sarah realized that she'd picked up Chuck's habit of talking to Lisa as if she was a grown-up, or at least closer to ten years old than two months. She dismissed the thought as extraneous, tucked herself back into her bra and pulled the shirt back into place, before padding over to the door.

Years of spy experience had left their mark, and Sarah found herself sidling carefully up to the doorway, peering at the peep-hole to make sure whoever was at the door wasn't waiting to blast her through the door when the tiny window darkened as she put her eye to it. The CIA horror stories of the KGB operative back in the sixties who had knocked on his targets' doors and put the tip of his silenced Makarov 9mm to the peep hole, were widely known; so widely known in fact, that the method had made its way into a fair number of movies over the years. Once Sarah was confident that she wasn't going to be shot in the eye, she put her face to the peep-hole.

A tension she hadn't realized she'd been feeling left her in a rush; it was just Ellie, her sister-in-law— which was still a new-feeling title to be throwing around willy-nilly, despite better than a year married to the woman's brother. Much of that year she and Chuck had been on the run or in hiding, and before that, they'd been pretending to have broken up. Thankfully, most of the CIA-related complications in her life were no more, and Sarah yanked the door open to greet Ellie with a smile, despite the early hour.

Ellie's eyes widened and her jaw dropped at the sight of her, causing Sarah a moment's confusion, before her sister-in-law opened her mouth. "Is _that _what you're wearing?" Ellie asked.

Sarah's confusion deepened. "Apparently," she said.

"No, I mean," Ellie faltered briefly, "Chuck really didn't tell you? I thought you'd have used your feminine wiles on him and got him to spill."

Sarah felt dread beginning to build in her stomach. Chuck _had _mentioned keeping a secret, briefly, but she'd assumed he'd just been being playful. "Uh-oh," she said, just as a small handful of women popped out from carefully chosen positions to either side of her sister-in-law.

"Surprise, blondie," Carina said with a smirk, and then reached over to wiggle her fingers in Lisa's face. "I mean blondies," she corrected herself.

Zondra shook her head in disbelief. "Carina told us you'd reproduced, but we didn't believe her. Even with the pictures."

"And you never told us you had a _sister_!" Amy chirped, arm in arm with a second redhead.

"Hi Renee," Sarah managed. "Chuck set this up?"

"Yeah, Sammie," Renee tossed her head to get some hair out of her face, in a manner familiar to all of Sarah Walker's friends. "Your hubby really stepped up this time," she said, then glanced around at Sarah's former spy-buddies, particularly Zondra, given the way her little sister was glaring. "Or maybe stepped _in_ it."

"Oh, yes," Sarah said. "He will pay for this..."

Carina laughed. "I'll bet," she said, with a knowing smirk, that set Sarah off in a blush. "Come on, Walker, change into something less Mommy and Me, we've got a party to hold."

Sarah smiled evilly, and made to hand off Lisa to the devious redhead. "Here, somebody's got to hold her while I change."

Carina's eyes widened and she took a hasty step back. "Oh-ho no! This is a Dolce and Gabbana blouse. No way am I getting puke-stains on it."

Sarah arched an eyebrow and turned smoothly, "I was talking to Ellie."

Lisa's aunt took her and bounced her and the littlest Bartowski reached up to grab her hair. Ellie laughed and pulled her head up, while Sarah disappeared into the apartment. A moment later she poked her head back out. "You can come in, if you want," she said. "I wasn't trying to be a b-word."

Zondra arched an eyebrow. "'B-word'? Why don't you just say it?" she frowned, until Sarah pointed vaguely at Ellie, and who she was holding. The tall brunette spy rolled her eyes, and Renee shrugged.

"You get used to it," she said. "And anyway, she's mellowed a bit on that front. You should have seen her two months ago. _That _was scary."

Sarah scowled. "Okay, everybody but _you _can come in, Renee," she said, and darted back inside, slamming the door in her sister's face.

"God, kidding," Sarah said when she opened the door a moment later. "Come on, everybody inside."

Lisa kicked and struggled for a moment, and Ellie had to shift her grip. "Hey now, none of that," Ellie said, and shook her head. "She's growing like a weed, Sarah. I think Lisa's put on like three pounds since you and Chuck have been back."

"How old is she?" Amy asked, and pulled a goofy face for the baby, who mostly just drooled quizzically, if that were possible.

"Today's what, the seventh?" Sarah said, ushering everyone inside, "Two months and three days."

"Your kid was born on the fourth of July?" Zondra asked, after some brief mental arithmetic. "Very patriotic. Did you plan that out or...?"

Sarah laughed and shook her head. "No, of course not. There were... circumstances, and I went into labor a couple weeks early. I think the doctors wanted to induce before much longer anyway. God this place is a mess. You really shouldn't have sprung this on me, Ellie."

"Sorry," Ellie shrugged. "I know you're not a fan of the surprise party, but I've always been of the 'easier to ask for forgiveness than permission' school of thought."

"I guess it just runs in the family," Sarah grumbled under her breath. Chuck's propensity for not staying in the van explained at last. "Anyway, I'm not sure I'm set up for a party. We're mostly just crashing here until the CIA finishes setting up covers for us in DC."

"Relax, sis," Renee said from her post rooting through the kitchen for something. "Just sit down, and let us work our magic."

Sarah sighed and sank into the couch. Ellie joined her and the CAT squad plus Sarah's former FBI Special Agent sister set to with a will. It was almost laughable, but they worked with the coordination of a well oiled team, and before long, 'Congratulations' banners and myriad party decorations festooned the apartment.

"It's very... festive," Sarah said, trying to be diplomatic about it all, despite being severly under dressed to her own baby/wedding shower.

"Well, we try," Carina said. "You never did send me those baby pictures like you promised. I had to get them second hand from Beckman."

"Sorry, Carina," Sarah shrugged and tucked one leg up under her. "I got a little busy."

"So we're led to believe," Zondra laughed.

"God," Sarah said, "How much did Chuck tell you about that?"

"Well, I may have mentioned our little roadtrip to Beckman's house," Renee said, "So, don't blame Chuck for everything. He didnt spill any more beans than he was supposed to."

"See this is why I hate surprise parties," Sarah said. "It's too much like _work _when I've got to figure out what everybody knows or is allowed to know."

"Well, it was hardly my idea," Zondra said.

Sarah pursed her lips, and avoided the angry retort. No use rehashing all their past issues at the moment; if one of the former CAT squad leaked information about her 'death' being exaggerated... well they would deal with it if it happened. And few enough people knew Sarah Walker was supposed to be dead. If-

"Wow," Ellie said. "Awkward silence. Here, Sarah, handoff time, let me go grab the margaritas."

"Margaritas? It's not even nine o clock in the morning," Sarah protested, but put her arms out to take the baby.

Her former spy team looked at her like she was crazy. "Man, when did you become the old married lady?" Carina said, then scoffed. "Forget I said anything, I remember that story now. Ugh, I still can't believe you got married at a comic book convention."

"What!" Zondra said, startled.

Amy let out a nervous laugh. "Seriously? You so have to tell us that story!"

Sarah grimaced and shot her eyes toward Ellie, who still didn't know the full story about Chuck and the Intersect, and then the rest of her friends, and shook her head. "Fine, okay. But I'm going to need a margarita first," Ellie darted out for the pitcher and Sarah used the brief intermission do figure out how to tell the story without being forced to compromise Chuck's status as the Intersect.

She weaved around and through the truth like a slalom skier, and got through the tale with satisfactory noises from her audience. Oddly enough, it was Ellie who had the objection. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, "I never put this together until just this second. You're telling me... you and Chuck _never_... you know? Even after the wedding!"

"Well, obviously not never," Sarah said, bouncing Lisa in her arms. Ellie threw up her hands helplessly. "Are you really that curious?" She quirked an eyebrow. "That seems a little weird."

Chuck's sister turned a sort of mottled color as she fought a sudden flush with a swig of her margarita. "I'm not looking for details," she protested. "But you slept over at least half a dozen times, I mean..."

"Yeah, and it was fairly awkward every time," Sarah said. "Come on, the first time you wound up poisoned by a former Olympic gymnast turned spy. Or maybe you don't remember that. You were all loopy from the drugs when you burst into the room."

It was Carina's turn to burst out laughing. "Seriously?" she slapped her thigh in hilarity. Zondra and Amy were snickering behind their hands and Renee was fighting a grin.

"Yeah," Sarah said. "It was a truth agent, we all got hit at some point; long story, and most of its still codeword classified."

"Aw," Carina said. "Sounds like my kind of story." Ellie glared at her, but it only sent the redhead up in another gale of laughter.

Ellie shielded her face with one hand. "Okay, please let's change the subject. Sarah, how about opening some presents?"

Sarah's eyes brightened. "Presents? There's presents?"

"Of course!" Renee said. "Haven't you ever been to one of these before?"

Sarah shrugged sheepishly and nodded toward the CAT squad. "Now having met my circle of friends," she said, "are you really that surprised? Any of you been to a baby shower?"

Zondra and Amy shook their heads.

"On a mission count?" Carina said, but then shook her head as well. "Wait, that was a bachelor party."

"They're a little bit different, Carina," Amy said.

"Enough!" Sarah said, "Presents!"

Ellie rolled her eyes, and went to retrieve her gift from across the courtyard. When everyone had followed suit Sarah considered the pile of gifts. "So, is there a set order I need to go in?"

"No, probably not," Renee said. "I don't think?"

The CAT squad shrugged almost in unison.

"Here, don't open the big one first," Carina said. "Medium first."

"That's from me," Ellie beamed and passed the box over.

Sarah handed Lisa off to her sister and tore into the wrapping paper. "Huh," she frowned at the box, "Its a... bullhorn?"

"No, no! What? No!" Ellie scooted closer to explain, turning the box. "See, it's a breast pump."

"A what?" Sarah said.

Carina laughed. "Ooh, kinky!"

"It is not!" Ellie said defensively. "It's... you can, um... nurse yourself, and store extra breast milk in the fridge. So you don't have to be 'on call' for breast-feeding 24/7. I know you're kind of going crazy."

Sarah's eyes widened. "You mean..." her voice took of an air of wonder. "I can make Chuck get up in the middle of the night to feed her instead?"

"Yup."

Sarah's hug nearly knocked Ellie off the sofa. Ellie gasped for breath and fought her way clear of the hug eventually. "You're welcome."

Carina frowned and glanced at the pile of gifts.

"Mine next," Renee said, shoving a huge box across the carpet.

Sarah ripped into the second gift with abandon.

"What the hell's a diaper-genie?" Zondra demanded.

Renee tossed her head. "It helps keep poopy diapers from stinking up the place," she said, "You just dump them in and flip this thing. There a gasket or something that keeps the stink inside."

"Oh my god, I love it!" Sarah hugged the box for a moment. "Thank you so much, Renee! Okay, who's next?"

Carina looked somewhat uncomfortable. "urm, actually. Why don't you... um..."

"What's wrong?" Ellie asked.

"Nothing!"

Sarah grinned. "I know that 'nothing',"

"Give me a break, I didn't know what to get for a baby shower... let me just..." Zondra and Amy were also reaching to take back their gifts.

Sarah slapped her hand down on the boxes to stop them from being taken back. She grinned and pointed at Carina's gift-box. "Lingerie?" Carina shrugged sheepishly, and Sarah turned her gaze on the next CAT in line, Zondra. "Lingerie?" The brunette nodded and sighed; Sarah's grin widened and she turned toward Amy, who just rolled her eyes.

"Yes, me too," the much too perky blonde said.

"Well, how were we supposed to know it was supposed to be a practical gift?" Zondra said, "We just found out you were married yesterday!"

"Its fine, really," Sarah said. "Although, now I'm curious."

The three remaining boxes turned up a startling variety of lacy negligees and thigh high stockings in a rainbow of colors. She frowned after a closer inspection. "How did you know my measurements? I went up like two cup sizes during the pregnancy."

"We're spies?" Amy said. "We're paid to find out things we're not supposed to know."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Chuck told you."

"Nope," Renee said, raising one hand from her grip on baby Lisa. "FBI training makes sizing people up pretty easy," then she made a funny face and bent to sniff Lisa's diaper. "Ulp, guess its time to try out the Diaper-Genie."

"Not it!" Carina said quickly, swiftly followed by Zondra and Amy.

"Ditto, sis," Renee stood and tried to divest herself of her two month old burden. Ellie rolled her eyes and took her Niece. Sarah followed with the huge boxed diaper-disposal system cradled in her arms.

"Speaking of," Amy said. "I'd better hit the ladies. Long drive."

"Ew," Carina laughed and sipped her margarita.

Zondra shook her head. "I still can't believe Walker reproduced."

"You met her husband yet? Not gonna help. Nerd with a capital 'N'. I'm talking pocket protectors and everything."

"Yes this is true. He did wear a pocket protector for several years," Sarah poked her head back into the room to admit. "But, dating a nerd has its perks."

"Like what?" Zondra quirked an eyebrow.

"Imagination."

Carina and Zondra exchanged confused frowns, before her meaning dawned on them at about the same moment.

Changing Lisa's diapers wasn't usually such a production. Renee stood by theatrically holding her nose while Ellie unpacked the Diaper-genie and Sarah got her out of her onesie. Sarah took her eyes off of Lisa momentarily to glare at her sister, and when she looked back, she gasped. Lisa wasn't finished. "Oh, smurf!"

"What?" Renee laughed.

"I'm trying not to curse around the baby," Sarah said. "Ellie, go grab the baby-bag. I think I left it out in the living room. The spare diapers are in it! Go, go, go! Hurry!"

Mrs. Dr. Woodcomb rushed off in search of the diaper bag, grabbed it to consternation from Zondra and Carina, and headed back at a jog. She skidded to a halt in the hallway when she heard voices. Amy had left the bathroom door ajar, and she didn't mean to eavesdrop. It just sort of happened.

"You heard me," the perky blonde said in a hoarse whisper. "Walker's not dead! She's here in Burbank. No, I didn't see any security. This could be the moment, Gusto. Get the team and head over."

Ellie's brow furrowed as she listened. Sarah hadn't said much, but wasn't the whole 'faked death' thing still a secret? She tried to shake off the sudden chill; it was probably just out of context. She didn't want to be 'nosy Ellie' all her life, but... she tiptoed backward.

"Hey, Ellie! Hurry up with the diapers!" Sarah bellowed.

A blue eye peeked out of the cracked door, suddenly widened. A thrill of fear went through her as her gaze met Amy's. The door slammed. "Oh, crap." Ellie breathed and ran.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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><p>AN: Evil cliffhanger, but I'll have chapter 2 up sometime Monday, so the wait won't be too bad. Why not drop me a review to keep me in the write frame of mind? (Puns! I will try to keep those to a minimum in the future...)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm going to do something radical and attempt to post a chapter at least once a week, maybe two a week if I get my act together. I need to write more and do so with some amount of discipline.

This entire story is already outlined, and I've got kind of a big budget action movie in my head of what the last 10 or so chapters involve. (Fight scene choreography included.) So you've got that to look forward to. Also, while this is not now and never will be a 'songfic' per se, chapter titles are henceforward going to be song titles that are thematically appropriate to some extent.

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><p>Chapter 2: Life is a Highway<p>

"Okay, that oughtta do it," Chuck said with a final glance between the instruction booklet and the crib they'd been building in secret while Sarah's baby shower proceeded.

"You sure, Bartowski?" Casey said. "This isn't like ten minutes ago when you thought it was finished, and then it collapsed when we tested it out with Awesome's bowling ball?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Come on, Devon."

"It's okay, Bro," Devon said. "We can wait and make sure it's really secure before..."

"Just give me the damn bowling ball."

Morgan was uncharacteristically quiet through all this. Casey was the first to notice. "Nothing to contribute there, Grimes?"

"Um... no. I just..."

"Spit it out!"

He held up a conspicuous looking wooden strut. "I found this under the couch."

Chuck looked up, a second away from releasing the bowling ball and froze. "What! That's supposed to be..." He bent to glance at the underside of the crib. "I've been sabotaged!"

"Sorry, bro," Devon said, laughing. "Ellie texted me to stall you for ten minutes. They haven't started opening presents yet."

"See, Casey. Not my fault! Totally not my fault," Chuck said. "Somebody toss me that Allen wrench?"

A short time later, they had repaired and tested the crib, and were ready to wheel it across the courtyard to surprise Sarah.

"You think she's going to like it?" Chuck said. Getting the thing through the doors was kind of an issue, but Casey was there to help them improvise adapt and overcome. (They flipped the crib up on its end to decrease the amount of wiggling it took to get through.)

Halfway across the courtyard, shouting and the sound of breaking glass startled the boys. Everyone except Casey froze in place. Amy burst out of the shadows around the back of Casa grimes and came at them in a sprint. "Hey, what's going on?" Amy was busy looking over her shoulder and not paying attention to where she was running. "Oh, look out!" Chuck shouted, too late.

Amy hurdled headlong into the crib, knocking it down and smashing in one of the side-rails. The spy-and-crib tangle crashed to the concrete and skidded a couple yards with the accompanying sound of splintering wood.

"Are you okay?" Devon said, starting forward to help her to her feet.

"Get down!" Casey shouted, hitting captain Awesome with a shoulder tackle. The report of Amy's silenced pistol was clearly audible, a metallic snap of the slide and the swish of the bullet zipping by Chuck's head, followed by the clearly audible smack of impact somewhere in the courtyard behind.

"Gun!" Chuck shouted and tackled Morgan into the fountain just as a second shot buzzed by. Chuck and Morgan came up out of the fountain for air, and Morgan took the opportunity to let out a long shrill cry of terror.

"What the hell is going on!"

Chuck peeped over the edge of the fountain and swiped his water-logged hair out of his eyes. Amy was running for the parking lot, firing wildly behind her. "Uh, ditto, buddy," Chuck said.

The rest of the girls stampeded out the front door, Sarah and Ellie bringing up the rear; Sarah was in the process of hastily diapering Lisa.

"Anybody want to explain?" Chuck said when Sarah and Ellie closed in. The others had sprinted past already.

"Amy's the mole!" Sarah said, shoving Lisa into Ellie's arms. "Come on!"

"There's a mole in the CAT squad?" Chuck splashed out of the fountain. Casey had his gun out when they caught up to Sarah. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought saying, 'No, I don't want my old team to visit' was perfectly clear!"

"Seriously?" Chuck demanded, "How does that translate into one of them is a mole?"

Sarah threw up her hands in exasperation. "It just does!"

They turned the corner and Casey bit off a curse. "Down!" More suppressed gunfire came their way, shattering the windows of a nearby car.

"This is not the way I wanted your baby shower to go, hon," Chuck said.

"I'd be worried if it were!"

Chuck peeked around the car they'd taken cover behind and spotted Amy zipping by on a motorcycle, hair flapping behind her. Zondra and Carina popped out of cover and took aim, but the overly perky rogue spy swerved behind a minivan, and they couldn't risk injuring the passengers.

"Shit!" Carina shouted. She dug a key fob out of her purse and pointed it at a sports-car parked along the side of the road. She extended her arm and the lights flashed. The horn beeped twice. "Let's move!"

Before she'd taken a second step her car erupted in a huge ball of flame. Bits of flaming debris peppered other cars. The blast wave took Carina from her feet. She stared at the wreckage for a long moment.

"My Ferarri!" She wailed. Zondra and Renee gave her a hand back to her feet.

"That's the least of our worries," Zondra remarked. "She's getting away."

"We should call the police," Renee said. "Somebody's going to sooner or later. We need to get out in front of this, wait and explain to them."

Carina shook her head. "That isn't going to happen."

"Look, this is a crime scene we need to make sure no one tampers with evidence and—"

"She. Blew. Up. My. Car."

Sarah skidded to a halt. "It's okay, we're not letting her get away," Sarah said.

"We're not?"

"She's working with an old friend of ours, Zee," Sarah said. "And she knows I'm supposed to be dead."

"What?"

"Long story," Sarah said, "and no time to tell it. Ellie! We need to borrow the Cienna! Keys!"

Ellie and Devon stood at the archway into the courtyard. Ellie blinked and passed off Lisa to Devon, before underhanding the keys to Sarah.

"Renee, you're the best driver," Sarah turned and whipped the keys to her sister.

"No way!" Carina protested, reaching for the keys.

"Best time through the FBI pursuit driving course. Ever," Sarah said with a hint of sisterly pride. "You can ride shotgun, number three."

Renee and the remaining CATs piled into Ellie's car and rocketed out into traffic, leaving Chuck and Casey behind.

Casey grumbled angrily under his breath. "I can't believe they left us," Chuck said.  
>"Me neither," Casey grumbled, putting the safety back on his unused firearm. Somehow he managed to do this glumly. "I missed the <em>last<em> firefight too."

"This is what upsets you?" Chuck retorted, gesturing back to the ruined crib and taking in the wreckage of Carina's sports-car.

Morgan was still staring around with his eyes half-glazed over.

"Hey," Casey said. "You gonna let your wife run off to fight badguys without you?"

"You still have the Crown Vic?"

"Yup," Casey jingled the keys. "Even still got the rocket launcher installed."

Chuck blinked. "Well. Let's just call that plan B. Okay?"

"You never let me have any fun, Bartowski."

"Our definitions of fun vary _wildly_. We've talked about this."

"I see her!" Carina said, pointing.

"Oh, great," Renee grumbled. "Interstate 10 at rush hour here we come."

"They don't call it that here," Zondra explained from the backseat.

"I don't need a backseat driver!"

The Cienna whipped around a semi trailer to a cacophony of horn-blasts, then swerved between a utility van and a family sedan. Amy was a couple hundred yards ahead of them, driving straight down the line between the lanes and zipping between a pair of big rigs. "Don't let her get away!"

"This isn't my first time," Renee said and somehow managed to thread the minivan through the same spot Amy had taken between a city bus and a white SUV, horn blowing nonstop.

"Here," Zondra said, thrusting her backup piece at Sarah.

"Why do I get the girl gun?

"I've only got two," she said. "Better than nothing, right?"

"Why'd you bring _plural_guns to my baby shower?" Sarah checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber.

"Well, I figured if you still thought I was the mole I might have to protect myself."

"Right. Sorry about that."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Water under the bridge," Zondra said. "Also. We can talk after the high-speed pursuit."

"Rina, you got a spare gun?" Sarah said. "I feel like I'm gonna break this thing."

"Derringer count?"

"I'll take what I can get." It took Carina a few moments of wriggling in her seat up front before she handed back another tiny gun for Sarah.

"Where were you keeping that?"  
>"You don't want to know, sis," Renee said. "Everybody hang on!" Amy had used her motorcycle's smaller size to wend her way between traffic and took the exit for Bob Hope airport. Renee had to stand on the brakes and swing the van into a nearly 90 degree turn. The Cienna's tires somehow managed to stick to the asphalt, and surprisingly, they were only jounced around slightly as she recovered and took the exit ramp.<p>

"Wow," Renee remarked, pleasantly surprised. She had to down shift to avoid a slow moving pickup on the surface street. "That's some very responsive suspension."

"Yeah," Sarah said. "I'm thinking of getting one of these myself when we get to Langley."

"Ugh," Zondra complained, rolling her eyes. "Minivan mom, way to live the stereotype, Walker."

Sarah opened her mouth, a comeback already on her lips, when a siren interrupted the thought. A motorcycle cop pulled alongside them, shouting and pointing with one hand for them to pull over.

Carina grimaced and dug out her DEA badge. The man on the bike spotted the gun a moment before he saw the badge, and nearly fumbled the handlebars of his ride. He recovered before Carina had the window rolled down.

"Gotta fugitive," She shouted over the road noise. "Black Kawasaki up ahead! We could use a hand!"

Sarah could see the man's shock and confusion even behind the visor of his motorcycle helmet, but he nodded and spoke briefly into his radio handset.

"Well, this is just perfect," Sarah said. "There goes our cover."

"Not necessarily," Zondra produced a driver's license and passed it to Sarah. She had to stuff the derringer in her armpit to take the card.

"Ygritte Nielsen? You brought me a fake ID?"

"I thought the baby shower was a cry for help; I brought it in case you wanted a way out. Sue me. And judging from the weird nerdy T-shirt and sweats, I'm still thinking you need a fashion intervention at least."

"Whoa-hell!" Renee swerved away from a black SUV that came out of nowhere.

Sarah glared at the SUV and then her eyes widened. The rear passenger window rolled down just enough for Augusto Gaez to wave at her. She shouldered open the passenger-side sliding door and opened fire with the pistol she had borrowed from Zondra. But Gaez already had his window on the way back up, and the small caliber rounds pinged off the tinted bullet-resistant glass.

"Dammit," Sarah barked. "That was him; he must have had a team nearby in case Amy blew her cover."

"Pull ahead of them," Carina said. "I'll take out the tires."  
>"Got it," Renee slammed the pedal down and the Cienna lurched forward.<p>

Carina shot out the driver's side front wheel of Gaez' SUV, and it lurched sideways just for a moment before the driver corrected.

"Crap! Run-flat tires! Back to the drawing board ladies!"

"Everybody hang on." Renee slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel, ramming the SUV in the rear wheel well and spinning it out. The motorcycle officer following behind swerved around the SUV and lost control; he managed to lay the bike down in a slide and picked himself up a hundred yards beyond the beginnings of a traffic snarl.

Renee steered through the impact and brought the Cienna to a halt just a dozen yards ahead of the stalled SUV. "Anybody got eyes on Amy?"

"Down!" Carina said, a moment before a pair of bullets struck the windshield, sending out a spider-web of cracks. Carina returned fire while Renee got the van moving again. Bullets peppered the front of the Cienna and smoke began rising from under the hood. The engine protested audibly and clunked to a halt.

Sarah and the others concentrated fire on Amy's quick approaching bike. She decelerated and swerved, attempting evasive maneuvers. The front tire blew and Amy leaped clear at the last second before her crippled bike spun end over end until it smashed into a stopped station wagon along the side of the road. Amy herself managed to roll and come to her feet at a run. Sarah emptied her pistol and switched to the derringer Carina had slipped her, but Amy dodged between parked cars along the roadside and Sarah and Carina both failed to hit her.

Gaez' SUV got moving again, one door open, and Amy slipped in without missing a beat. The SUV turned and took off down a cross-street.

Renee tried to restart the Cienna's engine, but the rogue CAT's gunfire must have broken something important. "Well, now what?" Zondra said.

Sarah's phone began chirping out the tune of Nine Inch Nails' _Closer__. _After a moment, just before the lyrics to the infamously explicit chorus began, Sarah snatched her phone out of the pocket of her sweats and answered. "Hi, Chuck."

The others snickered at her choice of ringtone, and Sarah put her hand over the speaker. "Hey, you try maintaining a normal sex-life with a two-month old in the house. We get pent up."

"Sarah?" Chuck frowned. "You cut out for a second. We're in the Vic," he explained. "And I see smoke. Everything alright?"

"The Cienna's been disabled, we're gonna need a pickup," Sarah gave an approximate location.

"Oh, Ellie's gonna freak. She loves that van."  
>"One problem at a time, hon. Amy and a team of goons just headed off in a black SUV."<p>

"Of course they did. The black SUV is like bad-guy required, isn't it?" Chuck mused. "We're exiting the 10 now. I see the van. Love you."

"Okay," Morgan said from the back seat. "Now will somebody explain what's going on?"

"No!" Casey said. "I still say you ought ta let me tranq him, Bartowski."

"Tranq what?" Morgan demanded. "I don't know what that means!"

"Morg, relax," Chuck said. "That's them up ahead, Casey. It's probably for the best if you don't know what's going on, Morgan. You're safer that way."

He shook his head. "It doesn't feel safer."

"Okay," Casey said as he pulled up alongside Ellie's disabled minivan. "Get out."

"What? Why?"

"Somebody's got to stay with the minivan. And you don't know anything that you can compromise us with."

"He's probably right," Chuck said. "Sorry, Morgan."

Morgan was still soaked from his dunking in the fountain, as the Vic, now filled utterly to capacity with spies, peeled out. "I never get to have any fun."

"Ugh, why is the seat wet?" Carina complained.

"Relax, it's only water," Chuck said. "It's not like you're going to melt."

"Any sign of the bad guys' SUV?"

"One second," Casey said, twisting a knob on his dashboard. There was a burst of static for a moment and then-

_Heading__east__onto__Burbank__Boulevard__._

"When did you get the police scanner for this boat?" Chuck asked.

"About the time you and Walker absconded."

"Absconded?" Chuck said. "Who says absconded in this day and age?"

"I had time to work on my crossword puzzling with you two out of the picture."

Sarah turned to the backseat and gave them a shrug. "This is what I deal with every day."

"Okay, there they are," Casey said. "I've got spare weapons under the backseat. Help yourselves, ladies."

Carina came up with a pair of oddly shaped guns. "I've never seen one of these before," she said.

"It's the new Kriss SuperVee," Casey explained. ".45 ACP submachinegun. Be careful with those."

"Why, is there something wrong with them?"

"No, they're neat. And I don't want you to mess them up."

Sarah stifled a laugh at Casey's expense and cursed. They were catching up to the slightly damaged SUV, and two men had flipped open the rear hatch, rifles in hand. "Casey? This thing is armored, right?"

"Of course," he said. "Time for plan B?"

"No!" Chuck said. "No rockets!"

Casey grumbled, and the gunmen opened fire. The bullet resistant glass caught the rounds, but fracture patterns webbed across, obscuring his view of the street. The SUV swerved off the road into a parking lot for a strip shopping center. "Huh, I'm getting the strangest feeling of deja-vu. Can I please use the rocket, Bartowski? Much longer and I won't be able to tell where they're going."

"You don't need his permission!" Sarah said. "Blast em!"

"Sarah!" Chuck protested.

"They can compromise our cover, Chuck. Casey, do it!"

"Yippee kiyay!"

Chuck shook his head, and blinked as his glance took in a familiar sign. "Oh, frak... Casey no!"

"Too late!" he crowed.

The rocket spiraled out and took the SUV in the already dinted rear panel, blasting it up onto its side and flinging it into the storefront with a crash of shattering glass and a squeal of shredding metal. Casey hit the brakes and brought the Vic to a screeching halt.

"What now, Bartwoski?" Casey demanded.

Chuck shook his head and pointed wordlessly out the window at what store the SUV had crashed into.

Casey groaned in disbelief when he took in the familiar green and gold lettering above the crash that read: Buy More. "I'm never getting away from this place."

"Come on," Sarah shrugged out of her seatbelt, "we need to get them into custody before they recover from the crash."

"Not so fast, the idiots here have seen all of our faces," Carina pointed out. "Except your sis and Zee."

"We got this, Sis," Renee said. "Zondra, you're with me."

Casey grunted unhappily and fished his phone out of his pocket. He dialed hastily. "Hello, General," Casey said, but then cut off. "Why does something have to have gone wrong? I can't just call to chat?" Beckman's laughter was audible through the speaker.

* * *

><p>Sarah groaned and knuckled her back. As if the day hadn't started off bad enough, she had then spent several hours interviewing Jeff and Lester. None of the other interviews had taken that long, but it seemed that Jeff had some kind of breakthrough several months earlier. Breakthrough, breakdown, it was a little hard to tell. He'd somehow managed to retroactively chart all of Chuck's unexplained or suspicious absences from the Buy More before they'd run off. The Powerpoint presentation had been surprisingly impressive.<p>

She shook her head and shrugged out of her old-lady disguise. Thankfully, Casey had had the foresight to keep the kit in the trunk of the Crown Vic so she could help out at the Buy More crime scene. Many of the employees had been surprisingly blazee about the whole incident. She remembered the last time someone had driven a car into the Buy More, and oddly enough nobody in the store seemed to have noticed the fact that a rocket launcher had been involved this time.

The sheer logistics of the coverup and the complications of having a two month old at the same time had made things... interesting. Ellie had come to take Chuck back to the apartment complex with a pair of fresh-pumped bottles while Sarah and Casey worked with Renee and Zondra to control the scene. In fact, one good side effect of the whole situation was that Carina and Zondra were now actively campaigning for her sister's reinstatement to the FBI.

However, in the aftermath of the car chase Casey and the higher-ups at CIA were insisting that Chuck and Sarah fly out in the morning. Every day they spent in Burbank was a needless risk.

Sarah tossed her gray-haired wig down on the sofa. "Chuck?" She said, glanced around the apartment and frowned. Morgan, as Manager, had been called to the Buy More as well, but Chuck should have been home. He hadn't hit the panic button on his watch, so she wasn't worried, but she called up his location on her iPhone just to be safe. The little GPS dot showed him on the Five heading toward Echo Park, so she headed for the shower to wash off the smell of smoke and gunpowder and the Buy More.

Hopefully for the last time.

When she came out of the shower, the sun was setting, and Chuck sat on his bed staring at his hands; Lisa was in the car-seat asleep next to him. Sarah frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I went to see my dad," he said. "You know, since we're leaving tomorrow."

Sarah nodded, even though that hadn't really helped with her confusion. She quickly changed into her pjs and climbed into bed, looped an arm around her husband and laid her head on his shoulder. "You want to talk about it?"

"First, what happened at the Buy More?"

"Lester hit on old lady makeup me," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, he really needs a girlfriend."

Chuck shook his head and laughed halfheartedly. "Ain't that the truth. No, I meant with Amy and what was the guy's name?"

"Augusto Gaez. And they're all in custody. Beckman's going to throw them in the same hole as all the other baddies we've taken alive."

"I ever mention how bad an idea it is putting all the supervillains in one lockup?" Chuck said. "What if they all stage a breakout?"

"Its a very secure location. Casey ran all their phone records, and they didn't have time to contact anyone about the exaggerated rumors of our demise. But its still time to go."

"Yeah," Chuck said, and fell silent.

"Okay," Sarah grumbled. "I tried to slow play you... now its the full court press. Spill, what happened with your dad that's made you go all broody?"

"Its... complicated," Chuck said. "Ow! Quit punching me!"

"Shush," Sarah demanded, pointing. Lisa stirred, but subsided back to sleep when Chuck rocked the car-seat gently for a moment. "Now, come on. I'm supposed to be the emotionally closed-off one in this marriage, don't try to upset the status quo."

Chuck sighed. "I thought he should meet his granddaughter, so I took Lisa."

"I didn't think she was old enough to steal a car and go for a joyride."

"He got kind of broody too," Chuck said. "He tried to talk me out of going to work at Langley. But I don't make those kinds of decisions alone anymore."

"You don't want to work for the CIA anymore?"

"I didn't say that, I just..." he trailed off again.

"What happened?"

"He told me- you remember about my mom? How she ran off?"

"Yeah, what-"

Chuck grimaced. "She didn't run off. He finally told me... She was CIA; it was a mission, undercover somewhere. Still classified, and he wouldn't tell me where."

"What happened?"

"Her cover got blown. They identified the remains via dental records. He couldn't stand the thought of having to tell us what happened, so..."

"Oh, that bastard!" Sarah hissed. "So he let you think she had abandoned you for twenty years?"

Chuck nodded. "Me and Ellie even had special 'mother's day,' remember? To celebrate how much we didn't need her around? I was so mad at her for so long, and now this? I don't really know how to even process it."

"You need to tell Ellie."

"I do. I know it, but..." Chuck shrugged. "Its not my story to tell, really. I mean, she and dad are still working through some stuff, but for the first time in like ten years they're actually talking. I don't want to be the one to mess that up for either of them."

Sarah chewed her lip. "I guess I get that, but she has a right to know, doesn't she?"

"That's what I told my father," Chuck said. "If he doesn't tell her soon, then I _will_ tell her."

"I wish there was something I could do to make this easier on you."

"Thanks," Chuck said, giving her a slow hug. Sarah snuggled tighter into his arms.

"Did he at least give you those schematics for the Governor you wanted?"

"Yeah. That and his original protocol for getting Intersects out of people's heads."

Sarah pulled away slightly. "That's what you meant about him wanting you not to go to Langley; he wanted to take the Intersect back out of your head. What about you? Do you want to get rid of the Intersect?"

"Do you want me to?"

"It doesn't matter to me," Sarah said. "It'd make our lives easier; and when we retire, Beckman will probably insist anyway."

"That's not what I meant," Chuck said. "The Intersect 2.0 made me Mr. Smooth bomb-defusing kung-fu-fighting mariachi-playing laser-grid-dancing-through super-spy."

Sarah glared at him fondly. "I see what this is. Chuck, I didn't marry you because of the Intersect," she grinned. "I married you in _spite_ of it. Although... Intersect doesn't help you out in the bedroom, does it?"

Chuck grinned himself. "That's all me, baby."

Sarah laughed. "Glad to hear it," she said, pushing him down on the bed and kissing him softly. The kiss was just growing into something more urgent when a high-pitched wailing came from the nearby carseat holding their daughter.

Sarah pulled away and sighed theatrically. "If its not one thing its another."

"Hey at least its not Beckman with a mission. Remember a couple years back on the fourth of July?"

"Hmm?" Sarah said, busy trying to rock Lisa back to sleep.

"You on the phone to Beckman while I was... otherwise engaged? Remember?" He waggled his eyebrows, and after a moment, she went crimson.

"God, now that memory is the same day as Lisa's birthday!"

Chuck winced. "How about we don't tell her that story until she's thirty."

"Oh she's _never_ hearing that story if you know what's good for you."

Chuck mimed locking his lips shut.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks a lot to everyone who dropped me a line in response to chapter one. I appreciate your feedback, and I'd like to encourage anyone with constructive criticism to weigh in as well. The only payments I receive for this story are those reviews, so please, keep 'em coming.

Chapter three should be in your internets on Friday, assuming all goes to plan.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Kind of a low key chapter, setting up stuff to come. We're scheduled to get more action-y again by chapter 6 or so.

EDIT: Something really weird is going on with . So in an attempt to fix it, I deleted and re-uploaded the chapter. Hopefully it won't disappear again?

* * *

><p>Chapter 3:<p>

"Here," Sarah said, once they had taken a seat in the waiting area. She shoved a laminated card Chuck's way. "Your membership card. From the plane ride to DC."

Chuck frowned at the cardboard square. "What is-" His eyes widened suddenly. "I told you the Mile-High Club isn't an actual club. Though this calligraphy is dynamite. How did you get us membership cards?"

"I went to Kinkos."

"Puns are the lowest form of comedy, Sarah."

"What pun?"

"'Kink'-Os?" Chuck said, making air quotes around the first syllable and raising his eyebrows.  
>Sarah heaved a put-upon sigh. "I'm in love with a doofus."<p>

Chuck grinned saucily.

"What?" She frowned.

"Nice Buffy reference, baby."

"O, lord, really?"

"Really."

Sarah puffed her bangs out of her face. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

Chuck shook his head slowly. "Well, I'm sure you could persuade me never to mention it again. You can be very... persuasive... when you put your mind to it."

"Deputy Director Myers will see you now!" The receptionist chimed in. Chuck blinked and glanced at the woman; he'd forgotten she was there, and now he felt his cheeks heating. They hadn't really been keeping their voices down. How much of that had the woman heard? Judging by the woman's expression, most of it. Sarah was taking the whole incident much better than he was, but perhaps that was merely her training at hiding her emotions coming into play.

She nodded to the receptionist and started for the door. Chuck had to dart ahead of her to open the door. Sarah rolled her eyes. "What? Chivalry is eye-roll worthy now?"

"Good, right on time," Myers said, standing from behind his desk. "Sorry to keep you waiting." The seventh floor window didn't have much of a view; the architects of CIA headquarters had known what they were about. The bulletproof glass on the windows was largely ornamental. There were only a very small number of places with line of sight to the window of the head of CIA operations. Those few places were occupied by CIA or army personnel, or were far enough away that no one alive or dead could make the shot.

Myers wasn't the only one waiting inside. Beckman and a handful of what were obviously members of CIA's Science and Technology directorate were in attendance, as well as a couple other familiar faces. Chuck's friend from Stanford, Jones, as well as...

"Hey, Chuck," Manoosh said. He blinked when he saw Sarah. "Sarah."

"Mr. Depark has been instrumental in our efforts to rebuild the Intersect you blew up, Chuck," Beckman said.  
>"I thought you'd thrown him in a bunker," Sarah said. "He did try to sell the Intersect to the highest bidder. Why are we trusting him with this?"<p>

"I understand your concern," Manoosh said. "I'm not particularly proud of the way I was acting back then. A bug in my reconstruction of the software."

"What?" Chuck frowned. "You're claiming the Intersect made you an amoral dou-" he glanced at General Beckman. "Uh. dude?"

"Yeah, I didn't want to believe it either; but Lieutenant Jones showed me what I'd done wrong."

"Lieutentant Jesus?" Chuck said. "That just sounds weird! When did they make you a Lieutenant?"

"That's a long story, Chuck. And we're making the grownups nervous, guys," this last with a nod toward Beckman and Myers.

"Who's Jesus?" Manoosh frowned. "I thought your name was Ron?"

Chuck shook his head. "Old nickname from our days at Stanford. Bryce claimed Jones here was 'the Jesus of hacking' and the name caught on. People would look at us like we were lunatics when we used it. Which was _more_ than enough to ensure we _always_ called him Jesus. I can't believe that both the army and the CIA would let you keep the long hair and the beard though, man."

"You can catch up on old times later, Chuck," Myers said. "This meeting is about our current project, what it will require to safely and securely re-establish human Intersect trials."

"We've had limited success with temporary skill implants," Manoosh said, "Rebuilding those glasses of mine that got trashed has been a huge pain, but we've been making breakthroughs recently. Still, putting anything in somebody's head on a more permanent basis, the risks are pretty huge."

"But you were going to try to jam the Intersect 2.0 into Bryce's head before he died."

"That was when Orion was willing to help; he didn't explain what he was doing to anyone. And he's disappeared again," Myers said.

Chuck winced. "Oh, yeah. About that..."

"Of course, you've been in contact with him," Beckman said. "You didn't feel we might like to know?"

"I told Sarah," Chuck protested.

"Where is he?" Beckman demanded.

"Look, if my dad doesn't want to work for the government anymore, you're not going to change his mind," Chuck said. "And I'm not going to risk driving him off by compromising my one way to contact him, for you."

"Hold the frakking phone," Jones said. 'Orion is your _dad_? Like the _real_Orion?"

"I thought you knew," Chuck said. "Yes. Anyway, I got him to give me some schematics that should help with any adverse side effects. Oh, and the protocol to get the Intersect back out again."

The team from S&T had been watching this whole conversation with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. "Oh my god," one of them practically moaned. "Did you bring them with you?"

"Yeah," Chuck said, opening his briefcase and handing over a three-ring binder. "Of course- hey whoa!" The man had thrown his arms around Chuck in a bearhug. Chuck pried the scientists arms from his neck after an awkward moment. "At least buy me dinner first."

Sarah snorted a laugh. She was the only one who did.

"Can we get a few minutes to look at this stuff?" Manoosh said.

"Go ahead," Beckman said. "Will it help you with the tests?" The rest of Manoosh's team snatched the binder and raced to a nearby conference table to begin tearing through the data. They seemed like ravenous, nerdy beasts.

"Tests?" Chuck asked. He had a sinking feeling.

"We need a baseline for who it'll be safe to upload a full Intersect package into. Then we need to make sure they're trustworthy; we're basically spinning our wheels until we get good data. We can't risk turning people into vegetables like FULCRUM did at Meadow Branch."

"First order of business is to get an FMRI of your brain while you flash, Chuck," Manoosh said. "We need to see exactly what's going on in there."

"Whoa, whoa!" Chuck whispered. "Should we be talking about that in front of the..." he pointed at the huddle of scientists around the binder Orion had given him.

"Good point." General Beckman said. "No they aren't cleared to know you've still got an Intersect in your head; the identities of current and future Intersect hosts is only to be known to you two, Colonel Casey, Mr. Jones, Deputy Director Myers, Manoosh, and myself. We're still setting that end of the operation up. And seven people is already too many people in the loop; it's only going to get worse when we actually start putting data in people's heads."

"If they science squad is not supposed to know, shouldn't we make them leave the room or something?" Sarah remarked.

"Oh, they can't hear us," Myers said. "I've got an invisible soundproof barrier that cuts the room in half."

"You're kidding," Chuck laughed. "Somebody actually built the cone of silence from Get Smart?"

"Yes. That's exactly how they pitched the project to the DCI, too," Myers went on with a grin. "You're going to have to come to terms with the fact that you are by_no__means_ the biggest nerd in the CIA, Chuck."

"Yeah," Jones said. "That's Dr. Dalekson over in S&T."

"Come on you're making that up. That's a cover name or something, right?"

"No. He had it legally changed when he was at MIT. Getting his second doctorate. At 15."

Beckman cleared her throat. "If we could get back on topic?"

"Right," Manoosh said. "We've got the equipment down in my lab in S&T, we should get started on the FMRI as soon as possible."

Sarah grumbled. "I don't know if I like the idea of you probing my husband's brain parts. He needs them for... you know, thinking stuff."

"The test are as non-invasive as we can make them," Myers reassured her. "No prodding or probing of brains."

"No needles?" Chuck said. "That's a relief."

"Actually, there will probably have to be some needles."

"For the radioactive dyes."

"The what now?"

"Oh, it's perfectly safe, Chuck," Jones said, trying to reassure him. And failing.

-000-

The tests didn't take very long; what kept them at Langley all day that first day, was paperwork. Well, that and Chuck's propensity to be distracted by all the shiny CIA gadgets the S&T boys on the Intersect team had in the lab.

But mostly, it was paperwork. Even after the 'death' of Charles Carmichael, back in late July, there was paperwork-actually there was probably more paperwork, _because_ of it. There were literally reams worth of forms to fill out, everything from budget forms, to weapons permits, to security briefings. Chuck had never actually had to deal with any of that stuff before, since Sarah and Casey had been around, and being made to sign the forms which dictated the punishment for violating the section of United States Code dealing with espionage was eye opening for him. By the end of the day Charles Irving Bartowksi had himself a tiny cubicle in the Intelligence Directorate where he'd have to come in and pretend to do analysis on Icelandic spies for a few hours a day. Basically, he'd be doing the same daily intelligence sifting he'd done at Castle in years past, and as far as his co-workers knew, he was the lowest of the low, a CIA employee lacking TS clearance.

"I don't get it," Chuck complained. "I thought this was the plan before my fake death? Do I really have to be the Jeffster of the CIA?"

"Keep it to a whisper, Chuck," Sarah said. "Just think of it as your secret identity."

"But it's my actual identity. It's _me__, _Chuck Bartowski. Hang on, does this mean I have _another_ cover?"

"Yeah," she said. "We're not going to be giving out our real names to the recruits; and they'll use cover identities with each other."

"God, this place is paranoid."

"Considering how many close calls we had in Burbank, you're surprised?"

"No, not really. Hey, can I pick out our cover names?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Subject to approval. We haven't finalized the details yet, but don't think I'm going to let you pick Bruce Wayne and Vicki Vale. I'm onto you, Mr. Bartowski."

Chuck sighed. "I wasn't going to. Besides, if anything you should be Dinah Lance."

"Who?"

"Black Canary."

Sarah frowned in thought, obviously dredging up the DC comics lore he'd forced her to learn. "Are you saying my voice is shrill?"

"What! No, I just... leggy, blond? Deadly in hand to hand combat? Ringing any bells?"

"She also has a sonic scream," Sarah said.

"Okay, how about we just go with something similar to our real last name. How about Chuck and Sarah Barton?"

"Hmm..." Sarah said. "I guess it's passable."

-000-

Sarah pulled the behemoth into an open spot in the parking garage and started the process of removing Lisa's car-seat. On the outside, the behemoth looked like any other minivan. Under the surface of couse, it was anything but.

When Chuck and Sarah had landed at Andrews a couple weeks ago, almost their first stop had been a particularly exclusive bodyshop. They had bought a Cienna of their own, in addition to springing for the repairs to Ellie's trashed van, and driven straight over to Executive Protection in DC.

The standard safety glass in the windows had been replaced with a new next-generation bullet-proof polymer that had perked up Chuck's ears when the salesman started explaining it's properties. Something about nanotubes and fractional displacement that had made her eyes glaze over. Sarah hadn't been convinced until they'd let her open fire on a test panel with an M249 squad automatic weapon, known affectionately in military circles as a SAW. She'd put an entire 200 round belt of 7.62mm NATO ammuntion into the 1/2 inch thickness, from a distance of thirty feet. None of the projectiles went through, though the glass itself was just a web of fracture patterns when she was done.

The side panels of the van were replaced with opaque polymer of the same strength, and backed up by inch-thick slabs of titanium carbide, which couldn't _quite_ soak up one of the new Russian anti-tank missiles, but she had been assured it came close. They wouldn't let her test that out herself, instead relying on a testimonial from the head of Joint Special Operations Command, the man in charge of all Special Ops forces in the US. She figured she could take the man's word for it.

In their new Cienna, _everything_ was armored, right down to the tires, which were also filled with a special gel that made a blowout from small-arms fire unlikely in the extreme and would keep the van from suffering a flat tire under nearly any circumstances.

Under the panels in the rear cargo area, was a gyroscopically-stabilized M240b machinegun, on a folding mount that could be deployed out the back door of the van.

Coupled with the rear facing machinegun were two anti-vehicle missile launchers built into the sliding doors; those could pop out and swivel 180 degrees to serve targets either fore or aft. Rounding out the weapons systems was a belt-fed 25mm grenade launcher that was ingeniously hidden in the same protrusion into the passenger compartment as the roof-mounted DVD player. The grenade launcher could be aimed electronically from the front seat through the rear-view camera system that was standard with the van. Of course the interior of the van still had all the features one would expect, TV monitors in the back of the front headrests for the kids, power seats, stow and go cargo area- though the M240 used up a fair amount of stow and go real estate.

The extra weight of all that armament meant they had to put in a diesel engine swiped out of a HMMWV, which gave their unassuming family vehicle gas mileage bad enough nearly to make eco-minded Chuck have a conniption, but the kind of horsepower other minivans only dreamed of. They had also had to upgrade the suspension substantially, and if it didn't handle quite as well as her Porsche, it could go off-road, and the diesel engine was equipped with a snorkel that would allow 'off-road' to include two or more feet of water.

Granted, none of that came cheap, and without assistance, the purchase would have taken a sizable bite out of the retirement fund Sarah and Bryce had swiped years earlier from particularly nefarious arms dealers. But Sarah had a quiet talk with Myers, and the DDO had agreed to budget them a couple million for the project of defensible transportation for the Intersect.

Sarah patted the behemoth fondly. Sure it was definitively less sexy than her previous ride, but she was willing to make that sacrifice for Lisa, and whatever they decided to name the next one when the time came.

Sarah strapped Lisa into the Baby Bjorn and headed up to the apartment. She'd been surprised to find that her landlord hadn't rented the apartment when she had left suddenly for her Arizona safehouse with Chuck nearly a year ago. She had told the man that she would be moving out, and not to renew the lease, but apparently the automated payment for a full year had gone into effect by then, and she hadn't left a forwarding address-for obvious reasons-so the man had saved the place for her.

Technically, the apartment was still hers for another three weeks. And so, while they waited for the remodel to be finished on the house, Chuck and Sarah were staying at her old apartment.

The first night had degenerated into a sneeze-off from the accumulated dust of years, and it had taken two full days with box-fans going full-bore before the place was sufficiently aired out to be considered livable. They had taken shifts with Lisa at the local Starbucks so she didn't do herself any harm from sneezing too much, and the staff had sort of unofficially adopted them. Rare was the caffeinated beverage that Chuck or Sarah paid for any longer.

Most of Chucks things that had been shipped from burbank were still in the boxes, piled up in the dining room that had yet to be used for its intended purpose. Sarah's DC apartment was as unlike her hotel room in LA as it was possible to be.

Where had all her personal belongings been hiding those years she'd lived in utilitarian, almost spartan luxury? Boxed up in her DC apartment. She had always just been living out of her suitcases, allowing CIA to be her costume department most of her adult life. Chucks boxes fit in almost perfectly, quickly disappearing in the mess of old cardboard boxes.

On his first day in the apartment, Chuck somehow found her old yearbooks and the photo albums from before her parents had split up.

Sarah had just rolled her eyes and succumbed to the inevitable, taking her husband through a guided tour of her childhood. It was a bizarre feeling, letting him in that much, even though Ellie had given Sarah a similar guided tour of Chuck's awkward teenage years long ago. Her only real long term relationship before Chuck had been with the Agency, and even then she'd had her secrets. Graham at least had known everything, down to her real name, but no one else, except now, Chuck. She was glad of it, but it still felt odd. That reminded her of something she'd been putting off for too long.

She stepped out of the elevator and let herself into the apartment. Sarah immediately spotted Chuck playing Xbox in the somewhat cramped living room, berating one of his teammates. That wasn't like him. What- "Come on, Morgan, this is basic stuff!" Oh, that explained it.

Sarah closed the door deliberately, and Chuck's head spun to her. She arched an eyebrow. "Gotta go, man. Later," he paused, obviously listening to a retort from his friend. "I'm aware its the middle of the round; the girls are home, and I don't want Lisa to hear all the gunfire sound effects. Yes I'm aware of this mute you speak of. I want to play with my baby daughter. Lay off. I am not 'whipped'. Bye, Morgan. Sorry about that, Sarah."

She shrugged. "Don't worry about it," Sarah said. "I appreciate you not wanting to expose our two month old to M rated gaming though."

Chuck finished shutting down the game console and frowned at her. "How'd the ten week checkup go?"

"Fine," Sarah said. "60th percentile in length, 60th in weight."

"Okay, then. What's bothering you?"

Sarah sighed. "I must be out of practice if I'm that easy to read."

"Not really," Chuck said, "If I hadn't spotted your 'tell' during that whole truth serum incident, I wouldn't have noticed."

"I have a 'tell'?"

"Yup. I think I mentioned this before. Anyway, I'm sure you know a couple of mine."

"Well, yeah. But I've had training to suppress those sort of tics. What'd I miss?"

"Oh-ho no, I need all the advantages I can get to keep things on an even footing with my super-spy wife."

Sarah pouted for a moment. "I have ways of making you talk," she said smokily.

"Seduction is less effective with Lisa strapped to your chest. FYI. Man, you deflected that question really well. I almost forgot what we were talking about. What's bothering you?"

Sarah shook her head ruefully. "Okay. Its about Graham."

Chuck frowned in confusion. "What about him?"

"No, his wife, Victoria... or, his widow, I guess," Sarah said. "With my dad in prison... and then, after my mom died she and Langston were kind of my backup parental figures, you could say. I never got to send condolences, when he was killed, since I was under cover. And I haven't even talked to her in years."

"Oh," Chuck said. He patted the sofa cushion, and she came and sat next to him. "I didn't know he was married. He didn't strike me as the type. Why haven't you called her since we got into town?"

Sarah was quiet for a long time. He almost thought she wasn't going to answer. "I feel guilty I wasn't there for her; I couldn't make the funeral, and when they had me out to DC to interrogate Shaw before he escaped there wasn't time for anything but work."

"You think she'll be mad at you? She was married to _Graham_ for Pete's sake. I'm sure she understands what it's like working for the CIA."

"She does, it's just..."

"Oh," Chuck said. "I know what this is. It's the Renee thing. When she cut you out of her life after your mom died."

Sarah nodded. "What if Victoria won't talk to me?"

"Well," Chuck said. "She knows what happened with your sister after your mom died, right?"

Sarah nodded. "Then I'm absolutely sure she'll understand. And if she doesn't... you've got about the cutest ice-breaker ever still strapped to your chest."

Sarah smiled downward and ruffled her daughters hair gently. "You ain't wrong, mister."

"Here," Chuck passed her the phone. "Call her."

"What? Right now?"

"No time like the present. We learned our lesson about putting off the inevitable, didn't we?"

Sarah's lips quirked up in a smile. "Yeah, we did."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: I think I may be getting into a Monday/Friday update groove, so be on the lookout for Chapter 4 soon. And drop me a review if you've got the time. The instant feedback is kind of addictive.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So people who've been keeping up with my blog will recognize a lot of the content of this chapter from previews I posted months ago, with a few revisions and additions. I didn't intend it to work out like this, but the structure of these early chapters has kind of been in flux as I write.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: Hot for Teacher<p>

**Camp Peary**

**'The Farm'**

**September 24, 2011**

"Hello. I'm Special Agent Sarah Barton, and I'll be one of your instructors in Hand to Hand Self Defense. So, pair off and get to work."

A tall Bryce Larkin type raised his hand. "Uh... what?" He said. "Just start beating on each other?"

Sarah shrugged. "Fine. A demonstration first. You're up. Attack me."

"Uh, what?"

"You have three seconds to throw a punch or I put you down."

He smirked. "You? I wouldn't want to mess up your pretty face." And there was just enough smarmy in his voice that she had no compunctions about what happened next. Sarah spun and put the heel of her foot into his breadbasket. Prettyboy wheezed and bent over, clutching at his stomach. She sidestepped and drove her elbow into his head just behind his ear, knocking him unconscious.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. Pair off. I need to see where you all are skill-wise; Self defense is fairly easy to judge just by watching. It'd take forever if I had to spar with each of you. Of course, not if everybody's got as much work to do as this guy." Sarah, leaned forward with her foot resting on her student's back. "Show me something, people. This is the CIA, not your mom's basement."

The rest of the class paired up, leaving Sarah with the meek little girl with glasses and a frumpy haircut. She nodded encouragingly. "What's your name?"

"Joan."

"Okay Joan. Forget what you just saw, I'm not going to hurt you. Attack me. I'm just going to make sure you don't hit me, until I get a feel for your skill level. Give me your best shot." Sarah was pleasantly surprised, even though she barely broke a sweat knocking away Joan's attacks; the girl had potential. After a few minutes, when Prettyboy woke up, she paired him with Joan, which let Sarah circulate around the room. She gave pointers where necessary, which was constantly. For the most part, the first half hour was spent cringing at sloppy and nonexistent technique. Oddly enough Joan seemed to be the farthest along. Although, judging by the way she was tiptoeing around Prettyboy the girl would probably need a lot of help in the seduction section later in her training. Sarah tried not to chuckle. The girl reminded her too much of herself.

"Alright everyone that's enough. Take a seat." Sarah went to her desk and sat on the edge. "So, first assessment of your self defense skills as a whole: Abysmal. Can I get a show of hands, how many of you actually have any training in this area? I don't mean fistfights on a playground. I mean with an actual instructor." A handful of hands, including Joan, but not Prettyboy. "Okay. Now, since this is our first day, we're going to switch things up right now." Sarah found the box with the rubber training weapons. She removed a rubber knife and a rubber gun.

"Joan, come up here and I will demonstrate the proper way to disarm someone." Sarah passed the fake gun over, and had the girl point the gun at her before stepping back to a few yards away. "Aim for center mass. Good. Now, from this distance, ten to fifteen feet, when your opponent has their weapon out and aimed, I have one chance not to get shot. Surrender. Come closer." At six feet Sarah had her stop. "At this distance, I start to have a few more options, but still, as an attacker, its relatively safe as long as your attention doesn't wander. If however, someone distracts your assailant, even for a moment..." Sarah took a quickstep forward and kicked the gun cleanly out of Joan's hand. The girl cried out and clutched her wrist. "You have a chance. One step is all you need to put yourself in range for a strike. If you're good, or lucky, you can knock the gun out of line, or out of your assailant's hand like I just did. Okay. Somebody toss Joan the gun back."

Sarah had Joan come up and point her rubber gun at her from arm's-length. "From this position, your attacker's advantage is lessened, but at the same time, if they pull the trigger they absolutely will not miss. Reaction time is key." Sarah lunged, snatching the gun away and turning it on Joan. She let the gun fall to hang by its trigger guard, offering it back to its owner. "That was probably too fast for most of you to catch. One thing to remember, is depending on the model of weapon you're faced with, you must tailor your response. Some, like the rubber guns we're using don't have an external hammer. When this is the case, your first move needs to be defensive, move as many vital parts of your body as possible out of the line of fire, then guide the weapon away, then either up, or down. In an urban environment down is usually best, though if you're in a high rise building, it's sometimes safer to go up." Sarah demonstrated the standard method in super slow motion, then explained how to jam a gun's action to stop it from firing, by slipping a pinky finger between the hammer and the cartridge. "A tiny pinch, or puncture wound on a nonessential digit is far preferable to a 9mm or bigger hole in a major organ. Okay, I've got a box full of these rubber knives and guns; count off, all ones come up here and get a gun, all twos get a knife, and pair up ones and twos, and we'll see how you do. I'll move around and give pointers where I can." A little before Sarah was going to call a break for lunch, the intercom buzzed.

"Agent Barton? You have a visitor."

"Who is it."

"Say's he's your husband?" The classroom went dead silent. Everyone stopped trying to disarm each other. Curious glances were exchanged. She could see wheels turning.

"He forgot his credentials didn't he?"

"Yes ma'am."

Sarah rolled her eyes and sighed fondly. Her class was staring at her like she'd grown a second head. "Brown hair? Six three? Piercing brown eyes?"

There was a pause. "I guess?"

"Driver's license number 24450482?"

"Hang on. Yes."

"That's him then. Send him on in." She checked her watch. "He was supposed to be here hours ago." Sarah looked up, saw everyone staring at her. "That's lunch, everybody." The students began to file out, but slowly and with obvious reluctance.

* * *

><p>Chuck didn't know his way around the Farm very well yet. This was his first day commuting over from HQ at Langley, and already off to a fairly inauspicious start. Hopefully he'd get the hang of dual identities sooner or later. Or maybe he could convince them he didn't need the analyst job at all. The fact that he'd gone to the wrong job this morning might help his case when he broached the subject with Myers.<p>

While they waited for the results of the new Intersect aptitude tests to come in, Sarah was trying her hand with the current class of CIA trainees; she needed to get her sea-legs, so to speak, as far as teaching went. He wondered idly just how much of a disaster the first day was going to be with this group. Chuck would never say it to her face, but his wife wasn't exactly the most patient person around when she was trying to teach someone something. Anything, really, but hand to hand combat, there was just such a huge potential for disaster that...

"Still can't believe how she kicked your ass, Cal!" a young man was saying to another as they passed Chuck in the hallway. "Bang, flat on your butt! Out cold!"

"Yeah, I'd like to see you do better," Cal retorted. Chuck was assuming it was Cal. "Wasn't expecting the blonde babe to be such a hardass."

The first man shook his head. "You think they gave her a job teaching CQC _here_ because of her looks? Grow up, man! Of course she's a hardcase."

Chuck frowned and paused, listening as the trainees turned the corner.

"Yeah, I guess. Dude, I wonder how big a badass her husband has to be to keep that in line."

"Yeah, kind of a shame."

"Please, like you had a shot even if she wasn't married..."

Chuck shook his head, a touch annoyed. "I really didn't think this through. I bet everybody in this joint is _Hot__For__Teacher_ now."

He came through the door to the gym/classroom where Sarah was teaching, with only one more encounter with Sarah's trainees; not quite as awkward as the first one, as they weren't busy discussing his wife like... well, like frat boys -which to be fair, he'd been once himself- and they were only six months out of college so it was hardly surprising.

Sarah spotted him immediately, her face brightening up as she took in the carseat holding their daughter and the paper bag holding lunch. Chuck wondered for a moment, which was the cause for greater happiness at the moment.

She was sitting on the edge of her desk, and scooted back to sit fully on the desk, kicking her legs like a kid, impatient for him to reach her. She grabbed him by the lapels as soon as he was within arms' reach and tugged him close. "You're late, on your first day." She complained in a whisper. "And you forgot your ID? Nice first impression baby."

"Hey, I've got two. One for Langley, one for here. I was already through security at Langley when I realized I was in the wrong place. I had both of them when I was in my cube. Must have grabbed the wrong one. Neither of them's got my name on it, and they're the same picture. You'd think that'd be standard or something"

"It's a security measure, Chuck," Sarah explained. "Though, we should have thought of that. Ask Myers if you can re-shoot wearing a different colored tie. Anyway, bar codes are better than names. If everybody went around Langley with their names on display... well, it wouldn't really be very good for people on the NOC list."

"That's a thing? I thought they made that up for Mission Impossible."

"They did, it's a figure of speech, all those cover identities are compartmentalized to the individual files. I don't have to explain what a NOC is?"

"Well... that movie was kind of confusing. Why don't you explain anyway."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Non-official cover, is somebody who goes into a foreign country without diplomatic backing. If they get caught, they go to prison until there's an exchange of captured spies, which can be _years__. _Or if its an unfriendly enough place..." she illustrated by running a finger across her throat. "An official cover is somebody attached to an embassy. Worst that'll happen to one of them, is they get sent back home. Diplomatic immunity is a wonderful thing for a spy to have."

"You ever have an official cover?" Chuck asked as he set Lisa's carseat on the desk next to his wife.

Sarah shook her head. "No, it's more of a desk position; no guns, or very seldom anyway. Very low risk."

"What's the catch?" Chuck said. "Sounds pretty sweet."

"For one thing, there's no going back to Non-official covers; a job with the State Department, even as a cover, is kind of a red flag. Everybody who works at a US embassy is photographed and put on file in any country with a half-decent counter-espionage agency. It's just too risky," Sarah said. She frowned, then shrugged it off. "Whatever. Lisa's overdue for her feeding."

"And so are you, Agent." Chuck said emphatically, pulling out a carton of fries and a pair of greasy hamburgers. "This one has extra pickles, this one has none. Figure out if your pregnancy cravings have evened out and get back to me. I already ate. Like you said. I'm late, and Myers is breathing down my neck about the new test they want me to take."

Sarah's chest tightened for a moment. "What kind of test?" She asked dangerously. Chuck put down the burgers and tucked a stray wisp of golden hair out of her face. "Relax. Pen and paper, its the new aptitude test. Really, its no big deal, reason I had to do the FMRI and stuff last week. Same one all our recruits are taking, they want to see how the old dog stands up to the pups."

"Why didn't they just give them Fleming's old test, instead of making you do this." Sarah grumped. "How much did they spend making the new test?"

"Hey, babe. You're the one who wanted to work for the government. They're not the most efficient at this kind of thing." Chuck turned serious. "I know this isn't cool, but can I leave Lisa with you for now? They've got a last batch of newbies I'm testing with, and I don't want them to freak if Lisa hulks out."

"She does not hulk out!" Sarah said in a hoarse whisper, then immediately calmed down. "For one thing, she doesn't turn green or anything."

Chuck smiled, he really appreciated her at least feigned interest in his hobbies. "You haven't seen my new desktop wallpaper have you? It's the cutest thing ever. Lisa's green and there a 'Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry' caption over her head. And she's shaking her fist at the camera."

Sarah fought mightily not to erupt in a spontaneous case of the d'awwws, but she couldn't keep the accompanying expression off her face completely. Chuck smirked and kissed her cheek. "I'll try to be back and take her off your hands quick as I can. Shouldn't take me more than an hour and a half. Love you."

"I love you too." Chuck beamed at her and headed back out of the room. Sarah scooped Lisa out of the car seat and hugged her as she watched Chuck's retreating form.

Once the door shut, Sarah came back to herself and realized one of her students was still hanging around in the back of the room. It was Joan, the mousey haired girl, who was staring at her in shock . Sarah raised her eyebrows. She must be slipping, not to have noticed earlier that the girl had stayed behind.

"What?" She growled, then paused. It wasn't Joan's fault that Sarah's situational awareness wasn't up to her own standards right now. "Out with it."

"Um... that was... your husband?"

Sarah grinned. "Yup." But that answer seemed only to confuse the young agent-in-training.

"That's allowed?"

"What, getting married? Of course. Look, being CIA doesn't make you invincible. It doesn't make you inhuman. This program isn't designed to make you some emotionless killing machine. It's supposed to make you self sufficient, which yes," Sarah waved away a protest before it was fully formed. She wished somebody had sat her down when she was starting out and explained this stuff to her. "Sure, it involves harnessing your emotions. Your training will help you deal with certain emotions, help you ignore others while you're on assignment. But they don't just go away. People don't work that way. Take me for example. Millions of years of evolution went into making me a bundle of crazy protective maternal instincts right now. If you made a wrong move toward my daughter I'd break you in half without even thinking twice no doubt about it. But only a dozen or so years went into making me a CIA agent; ask me to kill someone in cold blood, and I'll hesitate, if not outright balk. I'd need to know why I was doing it at the very least." Sarah paused. That had been her longest speech of the day, and a good one, she thought. If only the rest of the class had been around.

"Oh," Joan said, frowning. "I just thought we were supposed to be all business here."

"Well, you're right and you're wrong. We sometimes talk as if being emotional and being professional are opposites," Sarah shrugged. That had been her own mistake in the early days with Chuck. "Being professional just means being emotional off the clock. And speaking of which, I need to eat."

Joan raised her hand, even though she was the only one there. God, had she been lecturing her on her lunch hour? "Uh, Agent Barton? Is Mr. Barton a spy too?"

Sarah grinned. "No, he's an analyst, S&T seconded to ops." At least as far as you're concerned, until after the aptitude test results come through. "Why?"

"I just... Nevermind."

"Spit it out Joan." Sarah said.

"Well, it's just that he doesn't seem like your type." She said. "And if he was a spy too, I thought maybe that would explain it. No offense."

Sarah cradled Lisa carefully, but Lisa wasn't having any of that, and squirmed, tugging on her shirt and trying to get at her breasts. "And what, pray tell, do you think my type is?"

Joan flushed crimson. "I— Please don't fail me. I didn't mean anything."

"You expected me to be married to somebody like Prettyboy?"

"Who?"

"Guy I knocked out at the beginning of class."

"You mean Cal," Joan said a touch breathless, then cleared her throat. "All I wanted to say was, you seem a little out of his league." Sarah grabbed the burger with pickles and half unwrapped it, took a sniff. Scrunching up her nose, she offered it to Joan.

"You like pickles?"

"I don't not like pickles." Joan said. "Why the sudden change of topic?"

"If you really want to talk about this, I need food, and—" Sarah bounced Lisa. "So does my baby girl. Do you mind?"

"Uh, go ahead." Joan said, blushing. Without another word, Sarah grabbed the privacy bib from the baby bag and slung it over her torso before she tugged her t-shirt up and pulled open the right flap on her maternity bra. Lisa latched on and Sarah scooped up the other burger.

She took a huge bite and waved the burger at Joan. "So, you want to know why I'm not with some smarmy pretty boy superspy, but am instead married to the king of the nerds?"

"I, didn't... wouldn't put it that way."

Sarah grinned. Not anymore anyway she wouldn't. "The short answer is: for the longest time I was convinced _he _was out of _my _league. Chuck was everything I wasn't. Sweet, caring, gentle, I could go on, but he's not here to get all flustered and tell me to stop embarrassing him so why bother? You get the picture right? He was the anchor I needed or this job would have killed me in another couple of years. And he's just so damn cute."

"But still, King of the nerds?"

Sarah grinned proudly. "I wasn't always..."

"Sex on wheels?"

Sarah laughed. "I was on the chess club, played violin in the orchestra, braces, nobody looked at me twice. CIA will get its claws in you too Joan, and you'll hardly recognize yourself. It can be a good thing or a bad thing. It can change you, and more than just on the outside. But the work we do _is_ important. There's a lot of good to be done at CIA. You just have to be aware of the cost."

"The cost?"

"I missed my Mom's funeral for a mission, didn't even hear about it until I got back," Sarah explained. "My sister got shot in the line of duty, a little more than a year ago, and I didn't find out about it until weeks later because I was in deep cover. I fell in love with the most wonderful man in the world and couldn't do anything about it for three years because we were working together." Sarah shrugged, surprised at how far she'd opened up to this girl. Joan looked at her oddly.

"I thought he wasn't a field agent."

"He was mostly running on-site tech support and surveillance." Sarah explained, the lie with more than a hint of the truth in it coming easily. "In the field, part of the team, and I was deep cover. If I started something it could have gotten me killed, or him killed, and best case he'd get reassigned, and it'd have been years before we saw each other again, if that. So we waited. Not fun."

"But it's worth it?"

"I can't answer that for you. No one can. All I can say is, when it's not worth it anymore, its time to ask for a desk job." She arched an eyebrow and jiggled Lisa pointedly, glanced around at their surroundings. "Sound familiar?"

"Yeah."

"Just keep it in mind. Oh, and Cal? Probably not the best idea in the long run. The pretty ones are usually trouble. My Chuck's the exception that proves the rule."

"Pretty?" Joan said, incredulously.

Sarah's eyes narrowed and she let out a sigh. "Are you going to be a problem, Joan?"

"Uh, he's just not my type?"

"Nice recovery." Sarah said. "You're going to have fun in Infiltration and Inducement of Enemy Personnel."

"What's that?"

She grinned. "You'll see."

* * *

><p>Chuck scratched his head. <em>This<em> was the test they were giving potential intersect agents? How were they going to weed anybody out at all? This was kid stuff. "Having trouble?" One of the new recruits asked, with a snide expression on his face. Chuck could hear the unspoken 'old man' that the younger man obviously wanted to say aloud. He reminded Chuck instantly of Harry Tang, despite looking more like a dark-haired Captain America than a little bald Asian dude.

Chuck shrugged, not willing to rise to the bait. "Not really. It's just... doesn't this test seem a little easy to you? Whatever. I'm out of here. Maybe I can still make lunch with my wife."

The young man blanched. "What, you're done?"

"Yeah, I should talk to Myers about this test." Chuck said, handing his completed test packet to the proctor. "How're we going to weed anybody out if the test is so easy."

"Deputy Director Myers?" The cocky young would be-spy said, eyes widening.

* * *

><p>"Yes, what is it?"<p>

"He left the test."

Myers frowned. "It's been what, twenty minutes? Find him on the security feed. Thanks." He slammed the phone down. "The hell are you trying to pull, Bartowski?"

The phone rang. "Yeah. We found him. Pull up camera 916, looks like he's on the way to his wife's classroom."

"Thanks." Myers said, ending the call and started dialing. The monitor on his desk was linked into the CCTV security cameras at the Farm.

He spotted Bartowski making his way into a large common area. A phone on a nearby desk started ringing. No one else was around, after Chuck made a quick visual sweep, so he scooped up the reciever and bent to read something. "Uh... extension 2259. Bartow- Uh, Barton speaking." Chuck said. "What's up, Bill?"

Myers bit off his angry demand to know how he'd known who was calling. He'd started to figure out that Bartowski just knew things thanks to the Intersect. It was eerie sometimes. Probably flashed on his phone number at some point. "Where the hell do you think you're going, Agent Barton? The test period isn't over."

"I finished your test, what's the problem?"

"It was a two hour test." Myers said. "What do you mean you finished?"

"It was really easy. I didn't flash on anything. I just... Maybe there's something wrong with the test?"

"Barton, the best score so far has been a one twenty seven out of two hundred. The test isn't the problem." He sighed. "We'll get your results compiled with this group, should have the all the results tomorrow morning, and then we'll re-mix you and Sarah's class to just the top qualifiers and we can finally get to work."

"Right, good." Chuck said. "Anyway, Sarah and I are looking at day-cares today, any tips?"

"You're using the list we gave you, yes?" Myers said, and didn't bother waiting for an answer. "Then no. Just don't go off script, those are the only ones in the area with onsite security suites that are adequate for your purposes."

"Thanks." Chuck said, a little nervous that they still had to worry so much about security concerns. "There anything else?"

"You really finished the whole thing in twenty minutes?"

"Yeah, why does everybody get that weird tone in their voice when they ask me that? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Good luck today, Barton."

"Finding day cares can't be too hard."

"You'd be surprised."

* * *

><p><strong>CIA Headquarters<strong>

**Langley, Virginia**

**September 25, 2011**

"Okay," Myers said, nodding to everyone seated around the conference table. All seven people who would actually know the full, real identities of the Intersect agents were present. Chuck and Sarah and Casey, General Beckman, Jones and Manoosh, and Myers himself. "You've all got dossiers on the top three candidates. None of whom scored quite as high as Chuck's 198."

"Boom! Still undefeated!" Chuck said, fist pumping the air. Sarah shook her head and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He stopped celebrating and slumped low in his chair. Not quite a sulk, but close.

"We do have some that came very close. This last batch that tested with Chuck had one kid score a 189, and another a 186, but one of the trainees from Sarah's self defense class yesterday, a Joan Dooley, was the closest to Chuck. She scored a 197."

Casey shook his head. "I don't like this."

"What's that, John?" Beckman asked.

"The oldest of these kids is twenty-three; and none of them has seen any combat."

"The Intersect will help with that," Manoosh said. "I mean, I've seen some of your After Action Reports on Chuck's capabilities, and he's never seen combat."

Chuck opened his mouth to protest, but Sarah beat him to it. "He's been in more gunfights than some combat vets see in a full tour, Manoosh. And that was before he got an Intersect with fighting skills built-in. He didn't have any real training for almost two years. We just threw him in the deep end." She looked pointedly at Beckman. "Which was a damn travesty."

Beckman cleared her throat. "That's exactly what we're trying to correct, Agent Walker."

"Seriously?" Sarah said, peeved. "We're back to Walker? Please, Barton, at the very least."

"This is all fine and good, but we're not in a position to put any data in anybody's head for a couple of months yet," Manoosh said a touch nervously, eyes flickering between Sarah and Beckman. "So, we're going to have time to give them some training in addition to the Intersect skill-sets."

"I still say we need someone with a full-on military background on the team," Casey said, stubbornly.

Jones shrugged. "Any objections? I've got a spreadsheet on here," he said, tapping away at his laptop keys. "I can cross-reference our results from the tests we had the military run a couple weeks ago."

Chuck stood and peered over Jones' shoulder as he ran the search. "Okay, Jesus, assume we want only vets who actually saw action, and under thirty?"

Casey grunted in the affirmative.

"Top score is marginal, it looks like: 167. Almost twenty points lower than the guy with the 186."

Chuck grunted, and it was close enough to the #23 (Utter astonishment) that Casey himself sat up a little straighter. "What is it, Chuck?" Sarah asked.

* * *

><p><strong>Camp Cooke<strong>

**Baghdad, Iraq**

**September 25, 2011**

"LT, Major Carson wants a word, ASAP," a soldier said in passing.

"Thank you, Corporal." Kevin frowned to himself in thought as he made his way upstairs to the Major's office. The man's secretary, a fellow Second Lieutenant, waved him through the outer office, and Kevin stood at attention before his CO.

"Reporting as ordered," Kevin said. His salute was a touch sloppy, a vestige of his time in Delta Force.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Carson said. "Congratulations."

"Sir?"

The Major slid a case across the desk. Kevin scooped it up and opened it. His eyebrows shot up. "Want to fill me in on what earned you that, Woodcomb? Citation comes up classified when I try and call it up."

Kevin shook his head. "I got a little lecture about secrecy from two Generals after that mission, Major. I can say, that mission was the reason I was transferred out of Delta." There hadn't been much of his Delta Force team _left _after that mission to go back to.

Carson nodded slowly. "Very well. If I had my way there'd be a better presentation ceremony that this. Silver Star is nothing to sneeze at." He produced another, smaller case and tossed it. Kevin caught it easily. "You're out of uniform, First Lieutenant. Take care of that before you ship out."

"Sir?" Kevin opened the second case, but the Major's warning about the promotion softened the shock of the moment. Silver Stars tended to speed up the promotion process, but he was still at least a year from the standard time to be considered for the bump from Second to First Lieutenant. "Ship out?"

Major Carson slid an envelope out of his desk drawer. "Eyes only, to you, Lieutenant."

Kevin tucked away the medal and took the envelope. The seal was broken; he arched an eyebrow at the Major. Carson shrugged. "Command wants to steal a promising young officer, I at least deserve to know where he's going. Langley, huh?"

Kevin nodded. It made a kind of sense. "One of those Generals I mentioned worked for the NSA."

"And yet, you're not shipping out to Fort Meade. This big secret TDY doesn't work out, and you need a new home, give me a call, Lieutenant."

Carson offered his hand, and Kevin shook it.

He went back into the barracks to put together his duffel for the flight back to Virginia, and for a moment became worried, when he couldn't find his .45. The M9 the Army had sprung for was an acquired taste, and Kevin preferred 8 rounds he knew would take a man down than 15 that _might__. _If the gun didn't jam. Aside from that better stopping power, control, and reliability, it was also, strictly speaking, an antique, unlike his nearly new service weapon, and had been in the Woodcomb family for four generations and five, no, six wars now. His great grandfather had been issued it in 1916, carried it through the end of World War One and instead of returning it to the Army quartermaster as he was supposed to, he'd brought it home. Grandpa Ken had taken it with him to jump school when he joined the 82nd airborne, and held onto it all the way through D-Day and the battle of the Bulge, and Berlin. He'd taken it to Korea as well, as a matter of fact, before passing it on to Kevin's father Woody, when he'd shipped out to Vietnam. Doctors in the military didn't necessarily get issued sidearms, but Grandpa Ken had insisted that if Woody was going to war he needed a weapon, doctor or no.

Woody wasn't much for guns, and he'd given it back when his tour was up, but it still counted as going to war. Grandpa Ken had taught Kevin to shoot with this same old beat-up 1911, and then willed it to him when he passed, and Kevin had taken it to Afghanistan, and then Iraq, (which he counted as two separate wars) and now finally it and he were both coming home. If he could find it, anyway.

He'd had the thing out two nights ago, to make sure the gun oil hadn't dried out in the few weeks he'd been on the ground outside Baghdad. It wasn't really that big a deal if it had, but antique though it was, it wasn't original. Over the years, the barrel and the grips, and all the springs had had to be replaced at least a couple of times, and Kevin had replaced a few parts himself, but he kept the beat-up frame and the slide with the tiny dent from where it had been run over by a German Panther tank in 1944, if Grandpa Ken's war stories were to be believed. Resale value wasn't ever going to be an issue, and his main concern was that the thing shoot straight, not the historical value of the nearly a century old pistol. The serial number told him it had been made in 1915, so still a couple years to go for the centennial celebration.

Of course, if they'd let him stay in Delta, he'd have been able to carry his old beat-up antique .45 if he wanted, (as long as it could still shoot straight, which it did) instead of the standard-issue 9mm, and if he'd been able to carry it into combat, then his personal weapon wouldn't have got lost in his footlocker. But his now-former Captain had been a stickler. The .45 had been phased out decades earlier for the Beretta, because 15 rounds was obviously better than 7, or eight if you always kept one in the chamber.

The transition back had been a bit of a shock for him, even after OCS. When they'd put him back in the Rangers and shipped him off to Iraq, there had been something of a culture shock. It wasn't that he didn't like being a Ranger, that's why he'd enlisted in the first place, after all. But his shift over to 'the dark side' as his fellow officers called his time at Fort Bragg and then the wilds of Afghanistan with Delta Force, had left him with some bad habits to be glossed over, and OCS hadn't planed off all the rough edges.

A couple of times, his captain had had to remind him to visit the barber when his hair had actually become visible on his head from more than three feet away. And there was no growing a beard in Captain Cunningham's unit, though he'd known Ranger units in Afghanistan who'd succumbed to peer pressure on that front.

"Hey, LT," his squad sergeant, a rail thin black man called out as he came across the barracks. "What're you looking for?"

"My grandpa's .45," he explained.

"You can't carry that on patrol, Sir."

Kevin shook his head. "No more patrols for me, Sergeant Toomes," he said, and brandished his new orders.

"Shit, transferred out already?" Toomes said. "Back to Delta? Knew you couldn't handle cutting off that pretty hair of yours."

"Bite me, Sergeant," Kevin said. Toomes dutifully sank his teeth into Kevin's shoulder. He shoved the older man off and Sergeant Toomes boomed a laugh. "Wiseass," Kevin complained.

"Didn't want to get courtmartial-ed for failure to obey orders," But then Toomes blinked, as he took in the change from yellow to silver at his collar. "When did you make O-2?"

Kevin shrugged. "About five minutes ago. Came along with a silver star, and the flight to Virginia," he said, and tossed the box.

Toomes was impressed. He put the medal down after a moment. "That any shit you can talk about?"

He shook his head in reply. "The secrets police say no. And now, jump for joy," he said, "I get to work for them full time."

"When're you shippin' out? The guys'll want to see you off in style."

Kevin snorted. "Soon as I find that .45," he said. "Orders say to bring a sidearm, and be there two days ago."

Sergeant Toomes peered into the footlocker. "For an O-2 you're awful disorganized, Lieutenant. Try under that bundle of socks."

Kevin batted the socks aside, and saw the edge of the old fashioned leather holster poking out from under one of his t-shirts. "You're a lifesaver, Sergeant Toomes."

Toomes grinned. "Literally, in some cases," he shook his head. "You know, I'm going to miss having a Lieutenant came up from Staff Sergeant. Made my job a whole hell of a lot easier, not having to babysit some kid fresh out the Point, keep him from sitting on an IED."

"You'll manage," Kevin said. "Keep your head down."

"You too, LT," he said. "Don't end up no star on the damn wall."

"Count on it," Kevin said with a grin.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So we've met half the new recruits. Next Chapter is planned for Friday. Thanks to everyone for the reviews. Please keep them coming, and I'll try to keep up the two-a-week pace.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Well. I have mixed feelings about this final arc of Chuck. I won't subject you to a rant on the subject suffice it to say, I won't be wiping out large swaths of any of my characters' memory. I've now erased long two rants from this Author's note. You're welcome. Still setting stuff up, we'll be moving along pretty quick in upcoming chapters, though.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Eye of the Tiger<p>

September 26, 2011

Washington, DC Holiday Inn

He'd slept as much as he could on the cargo plane to Ramstein, but the second leg of the journey had been punctuated by half a dozen periods of intense turbulence, that had kept him awake and fighting motion sickness across the Atlantic. The jetlag caught up to him as he arrived at his hotel in the early morning and he collapsed across the bed still in his fatigues.

When the wakeup call roused him at seven a.m., it seemed as if his head had just hit the pillow. He briefly considered emptying his .45 into the offending telephone unit; after a moment he reconsidered, and batted the phone of the hook. "I'm up, leavemealone," he grunted and shook his head in disgust. He'd inadvertently knocked the receiver to the floor and had to stretch to grab it and scoop it back into place.

He heaved himself off the bed and trudged into the bathroom to splash water on his face. When that didn't work, he got back on the phone to see about some coffee. There was no coffeemaker in the room, and the room service markup was the least of his worries. Kevin needed caffeine like he needed air at the moment.

Kevin grabbed a two minute shower and threw on his one set of civilian clothes, a t-shirt and jeans. He didn't have any other shoes with him than his combat boots, but they were comfortable.

After a pot of coffee he stuffed his 45, holster and all down the back of his pants and tugged the tail of his t-shirt over the grip. His orders said he'd be expected to carry a sidearm most of the time, but he needed a jacket or something if it was going to be in any way concealed. Another quick call to the front desk gave him the location of a sporting goods store only a few blocks away, and he jogged over. He picked up a corduroy blazer with several hidden pockets on the inside, as well as a new concealed-carry holster, two spare mags for the 1911, a mag pouch, and a box of high-quality self-defense ammunition.

He returned to his hotel room to gear up for his first day at CIA. He needed all but one round out of the box of twenty-five to load his three magazines. The two spares held eight instead of the standard seven. Kevin patted the holster on his left hip and grinned before settling the blazer over the weapon. Twenty four rounds wasn't a lot these days. Some newer 9mm automatics held nearly that in one magazine. However, that had always seemed a little excessive to Kevin, when he could put five aimed rounds inside a four inch square at fifty yards in under two seconds with the forty five. Nobody'd be getting back up after that.

Still. He pocketed the loose round just in case, before heading to his car. He would probably need to figure out accommodations sometime soon. He doubted CIA would spring for a hotel room indefinitely.

The fact that the exit off I-495 was clearly marked 'CIA', was a little surreal, but Kevin knew that secrecy could only be taken so far. He stopped his rental car at the security hut, and was none-too-impressed with the man-on-duty's level of readiness. The man took Kevin's ID and checked his face against the picture in a sort of perfunctory way.

"Why'd you cut your hair all off?"

Kevin rubbed at the stubble. He did indeed miss the shoulder-length locks his father had yelled at him about all through highschool. God, that seemed like forever ago. The picture on his driver's license was the one from just before his enlistment. Crap that was another thing he needed to do, he realized taking the card back. It was going to expire on his next birthday. "Wasn't my idea. Army made the call."

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Both."

The man gave him a respectful nod and passed him through. Kevin had to drive around for awhile looking for parking, and got better directions from a second security guy who came over to investigate him going around in circles. Kevin got through the front doors into the lobby without any further difficulties, and headed to the reception desk.

They got him a visitor's badge and sent him through security. As he approached the metal detectors, he pulled his 45, holster and all from his belt, so he could hand it over to the screener. Kevin figured he'd get a receipt for it or—

"Gun!" Someone shouted.

Kevin turned his head instinctively at the shout, looking for the idiot who was trying to attack the CIA. "Oh F—" he said before the man behind him in the security line took him down to the cold linoleum floor with a flying tackle. Kevin went limp, offering no resistance at all as his weapon was kicked away. Well. That could have gone better.

They carted him off to a holding cell briefly, hands zip-tied behind his back with a hood over his head. That only lasted a few minutes, before he was picked up roughly under the arms, and dragged him (he would have walked, but they seemed fairly intent on the dragging) into another room and shoved him into a metal chair. Someone cut the zip-tie, and they cuffed him to a cold metal table before the hood was ripped from his head. He blinked, bleary eyed from the rough canvas, and sighed. He was in an interrogation room. The chair wasn't bolted into the ground or anything, so he scooted it back enough so he could bonk his head gently on the surface of the table.

It took a seeming eternity for the door behind him to open. "Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into," Chuck said, fighting a losing battle with amusement. "What were you thinking?"

Kevin shook his head. "My orders said—

"Yeah, but not here at Langley," Chuck said. "Though, I should probably thank you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Chuck said. "Myers had a meeting at the White House and Sarah and Casey are busy with the rest of the recruits. Manoosh and Jesus pulled an all-nighter. I'm the only one here today who's cleared to know you were even coming. And we didn't expect you until tomorrow."

"When a message says ASAP, I take it serious."

"I guess so. Anyway the thanks are for getting me out of my cover job for the rest of the day."

"What cover? How is that a good thing?"

"My cover job is the suckiest thing since suck came to sucktown, man," Chuck said.

"Oh. That says a lot. Doesn't _explain_ a whole hell of a lot, though."

Chuck shrugged. "My 'superior' at my cover job keeps yelling at me for calling my wife so much."

"Wife?" Kevin said. "I missed the wedding?"

"Unless you were at Comic-Con, July a year ago? We've got a couple of storm-troopers in the wedding photos that are still unidentified."

"I was at Officer Candidate School last July; I shipped out right after your big party on the 4th, remember."

"Right. Anyway, I have to call Sarah about once every forty-five minutes to report on what I'm actually doing that Gerald can't know about. It's a whole thing. Gerald thinks I'm like turbo-whipped or something."

"So…" Kevin rattled his handcuff-chain through the rings soldered into the table.

"Right. Right!" Chuck fumbled a handcuff key out of his pocket and slid it over to Kevin.

"How much trouble am I in, on a scale of one-to-ten? Ballpark it."

"Two-ish; it isn't really your fault."

"Kinda seems that way to me. I thought they got guys with guns through here all the time."

"Sure, you declare the weapon and turn it in when you get your visitor's badge."

"I'll be sure to just leave it in the car next time."  
>"We probably won't be working out of Langley for a while anyway."<p>

"Something wrong?"

"We can get into it later. Wrists alright?"

"Where are we going?"

"Well, I can't tell you that, you know? You're a security risk."

"Seriously?"

"No, otherwise they'd never let me in the same room as you," Chuck said. He walked over to the door and banged his knuckles on the metal.

Kevin got more than his fair share of odd looks as he and Chuck made their way out to Chuck's car. At the big reception area in the lobby, Chuck took custody of a plastic evidence bag holding Kevin's 45. He waited until they were in the parking lot to give it back. "We'll take my car," Chuck said.

"Oh, what about my rental?"  
>"We're going to have somebody from S&amp;T come out and sweep it for bugs."<p>

"Come on. Institutional paranoia is one thing, but that's ridiculous. How could somebody have bugged my car in the CIA parking lot?"

Chuck grinned. "How indeed," he pulled the keys out and unlocked a minivan.

"Wow," Kevin said. "You're really married, huh."

"Har har," Chuck said. "Get in before I bust a gut laughing."

"You mind if I listen to the radio," Kevin said.

"Don't touch that!"

He raised his hands. "Yeesh, sorry. Okay: touchy about the radio, I'm filing that away for future reference."

"No, just… I don't know the controls as well as Sarah, but I think that's the grenade launcher safety you were playing with, not the radio."

"Grenade launcher…" Kevin said. "I guess we do have a lot to talk about."

"And that's the last time Devon left his football pads in the living room."

Chuck nearly choked himself trying not to laugh at the image in his mind, Devon flailing around the practice field because his brothers had soaked everything save his jock in itching powder (they were his brothers, after all; they did have to live with him afterward, and there was no reason to burn all their bridges at once). "Did he get you back?"Chuck said as they pulled up to the guard post a little more under an hour later.

"Boy did he ever," Kevin said. He leaned over to show his ID and blinked at the Marine on guard duty. "I thought we were heading for Camp Peary."

"One of our recruits was in the current class at the Farm. Secrecy dictates we not let them see her in special training sessions, and it's easier to just have her 'wash out' and relocate the training to Quantico. Fewer question for the other CIA trainees to ask. Also, the commute isn't completely awful."

"Oh, where are you and Sarah living?"

"We're staying at Sarah's old place in DC, until they finish putting in all the security system stuff at the house. It's about half-way between Langley and the Farm. But now if we're going to be staging out of Quantico, it's only about a twenty minute drive."

"Why Quantico, though?"

"Sarah's idea. I mean, we're technically doing mostly counter-espionage anyway, you know? It's FBI's job, not CIA," he said. "So, since Sarah's sister was already pretty-much read in on the project anyway... she'll be in charge of what intel we come up with, and how to share it out with the rest of FBI's National Intelligence Project."

"You did a pretty good job of dancing around the subject on the drive over here. What project?"  
>"Well, its codenamed Project Flypaper."<p>

"That doesn't tell me anything, Chuck. Who came up with that name anyway?"

"CIA's got a computer program picks out random codewords so we don't unintentionally use a codeword that might tip somebody off as to what we do."

Kevin threw up his hands. "Exactly my point, bro. When do I get to know what the hell's going on?"

"We'll brief you along with others, now that everybody's here," Chuck parked the van and got out. Kevin had no choice but to follow suit. "Leave the gun, don't want to spook the other recruits do you? Almost forgot," he dug in his pocket and handed over a leather wallet.

Kevin frowned as they walked, flipped it open. "When did I become an FBI agent?" he said. "And where is this picture from?"

"Photoshop," Chuck said. "I had Devon send me an old picture of you in a suit and we put your head from your military ID on it. And you're not an agent. You're an SLO to the NSB."

"Geshundheit."

"National Security Branch of the FBI," Chuck said. "We're all Special Liaison Officers. Gives us a semiofficial ID we can show if it becomes necessary without advertising the fact we actually work for the CIA."

"So if we have to tell somebody to 'Freeze' we yell out what all out of that gobbledegook?"

"Just… yell FBI. Hopefully it won't come to that. We don't technically have arrest authority though; god, I hate bureaucracy. I forget just how much red tape we've managed to avoid by basing well away from DC."

"I should say something snarky here about chickens coming home to roost, but I'll let you just imagine it."

"How snarky would it have been?"

Kevin shrugged. "Probably a seven or an eight."

"Wow, that bad. Anyway. No mention of us being related to the others."

"Because we're not; our siblings are married."

"What I mean is, look on your FBI papers. Your name is Kevin Woods now. They say with a first cover ID to stay somewhat close to the real name. It makes it easier to remember."

"Well its better than Carmichael at least."  
>"Hey, I liked that cover."<p>

"Past tense?"

"Yeah," he said. Chuck drew a finger across his throat. "Helicopter crash. Very messy. Don't mention that name if you can help it, the bad guys don't know we weren't on the thing when it blew."

"Casey got a new name too?"

Chuck laughed. That had been its own surprise. Casey was back using his real last name, and none too pleased with it. "Yeah, John Coburn. I still mess up sometimes and call him Casey."

"And you and Sarah are…"  
>"Oh, doy. Spaced on that one. We're still just Chuck and Sarah, but Barton, instead of Bartowski.<p>

"This is getting confusing," Kevin said. "Keeping all these names straight."

"You'll get the hang of it eventually. I did, after all."

Chuck knocked on a door with a small placard reading: Conference room, and went in without waiting for an answer.

"About time," Casey said.

Kevin shrugged. "Traffic."

Chuck smirked and beckoned for Kevin to sit. Sarah, Casey and three younger people sat at the conference table. "Let's get started; we'll do Introductions first. Kevin, this is Danny," Kevin nodded politely, filing the man away. White, early twenties, kind of nerdy, dark hair and thick black-framed glasses. "This is Jarod," again early twenties, black, hair kind of weird spiky-twisty-things. Kevin didn't know what they were called. "And Laura," Pretty, but the hair-cut wasn't doing her any favors. About the same age as the first two, all of them must be just out of college. "Everybody, Kevin."

Kevin exchanged handshakes with the other recruits, "They tell you what this is all about? I'm still in the dark."

"We were waiting on you," Danny said. "I didn't think we'd get to hear it today. So, I'm glad you made it."

Kevin nodded. "Me too. You have no idea."

"Alright," Casey—Coburn, got to start thinking of him that way or he'd mess things up for everybody—said. "You're all cleared at least TS, had all the briefings?" It was largely rhetorical. He had the paperwork on that sitting in front of him. "Okay than, the special access compartment for this project is 'Flypaper'. Anybody doesn't know that codeword tries to talk to you about this, shoot them."

"That's a little drastic, don't you think?" Chuck said.

Sarah pursed her lips. "He's just trying to make a point for, so they know how serious this is." She had the folder holding the recruits briefing documents. "You're going to need to read these. We can't let you keep them. They're going in the incinerator when you're done. Chuck, can give you the short version. Of course, that's if you're going to stick around."

"This is an all volunteer assignment. You can walk away up to the moment you open those folders or you hear too much; we'll just let you slink off back to your prior assignments."

No one wanted to be referred to later as having 'slinked' anywhere, the psychology major in him pointed out. "I'm in," Kevin said. Whatever it was that security was this tight on, it had to be worthwhile.

"Might be easier if we had a demonstration," Chuck said.

"You sure, Chuck?"

He nodded, and Sarah placed a leather roll on the table, unfastened the clasp and flipped it open to reveal a row of throwing knives. She slid the knives down the conference table toward Kevin and the others. "Take one, pass it on."

"We're not going to sign in blood are we?" Jarod said. "I don't want to sign away my first born, or my soul here." Kevin grinned.

"Relax," Sarah said, and then nodded to herself when everyone had a knife. "Okay, Chuck?"

He winced and his eyes flicked under his eyelids for a moment, before he nodded. "No problem."

Kevin raised his hand. "Somebody want to tell me what's going on?"

"Okay. On three, throw your knives at me."

"No, seriously," Kevin said. "This is some kind of test, right?"

"It's alright," Chuck said. Kevin looked around. Danny and Jarod were holding their knives, but didn't look all that interested in throwing them. Laura was just toying with hers, holding it between her thumb and forefinger distastefully. "One, two, three."

Kevin threw half-heartedly. He was the only one. Even if it hit it wouldn't be a lethal— and then he had to duck. Chuck snatched the weapon effortlessly out of the air and flicked it right back at him. He felt the air move as the blade zipped over the top of his head. It would have missed him by less than half an inch if he hadn't slumped down. He knew his expression was a match for those on the others' faces. Utter astonishment.

"How—" Danny said.

Jarod was a step ahead of him. "So the whole, nerdy klutz thing was an act? It's a good one."

Chuck shook his head no. "I have a couple terabytes of data stored in my brain," he touched the side of his head. "About of third of it is the equivalent of muscle memory. If I concentrate, I can remember how to do a lot of stuff, like the knife thing. Spanish guitar, uh… surfing I think, twenty years worth of martial arts training, bomb disposal, plenty of other stuff. And the entire CIA database... if I need to identify somebody I come across on the street."

"NSA database too," Casey put in.

"That's impossible," Danny said.

"Nope. It's based on a computer called the Intersect; it uses a visual encoding system, a kind of advanced Steganography to—"

"That test they had us take!" Laura said, making a realization. "It was to see how much we could retain? You're going to load this stuff into our heads?"

"That's the hope, yes. We've had some setbacks, and to make sure we don't… you know, put you in comas or something, we had to cherry pick the best results."

"So we're the top four scores?" Danny said. "Who's number one?"

"Please, we don't need any of that," Chuck said. "You four were chosen based on multiple criteria, and—"

"Come on," Jarod said. "Competition is a good thing, right? Who had the high score?"

Chuck and Sarah exchanged a glance with Casey, who just shrugged. "Fine. Laura was first, after me. Then Danny, Jarod and Kevin."

Kevin frowned at that. He wasn't accustomed to being last at anything, but then, he was only fourth, not _last_. Still, it stung a little.

"How far back am I?" Kevin said. He doubted it was something you could train and get better at, but he asked.

Chuck winced. "Thirty points. Out of two-hundred."

That was. Wow. "Really? There wasn't anybody between me and third place?"

"We reached down for you," Casey said. "I wanted somebody with actual combat experience, not just a college kid did good on a test."

"You're what, army?" Jarod said.

"Yeah, two tours in Afghanistan, Ranger RRD then Delta Force," Kevin said. He had to stop and stifle a yawn. "Then back to the Rangers in Iraq. I think I'm still on Baghdad time."

"So you've killed people?" Laura asked. It wasn't so much out of morbid curiosity as it was wariness, he thought.

"How many?" Danny said. There was the morbid curiosity.

"I stopped keeping count when I passed Billy the Kid."

Casey was grinning ear to ear. It had made him sound like a sociopath, he realized a moment later.

"But it'll say in my file," Kevin said. "It's not something I care to know about myself; the blood on my hands. I can still see some of their faces. Killing someone… it stays with you, even when you wish it wouldn't, even when you know they deserved it. Even if it's down to them or you." That shut the room up about test scores, and Chuck was nodding, so _he_ understood now too. He hadn't, back in Afghanistan. Kevin remembered him insisting they tranquilize one of the enemy troops. The base had blown up later, and nobody had bothered to go back for the unconscious men. He wondered if Chuck had realized that or not.

Finally, Chuck cleared his throat. "So, now you know why you're here. In the months to come, barring some unforeseen technical hurdle, the team at S&T should be ready to begin loading data-sets into your brains. We'll be tailoring those to fit your current skill and knowledge so we can avoid doubling up, save space. So, Kevin, I don't think we'll bother with the marksmanship programs? But, and in this, I am in agreement with Colonel Coburn, you need to know how to defend yourselves without benefit of the Intersect. So, from now until god knows when, we'll all do PT, and self defense lessons with Sarah, and John."

Kevin raised his hand. "Do I need to be here for those? I can handle myself."

"We'll talk about it," the Colonel said. "In the meantime, we have a team building exercise set for today."

Kevin groaned, and the others glanced at him, raised eyebrows prevalent in their expressions. "That's code for we run until we puke. If anybody falls behind or can't finish the run, we have to carry them. And then we do pushups when we're done. If you'd ever been in the military, you'd know that."

"Aw, you spoiled the surprise," Casey said, as he led the way outside.

"Are you coming with us?" Laura said.

"Yeah, sure we are," Chuck said. He sat down in the passenger seat of a golf cart Kevin hadn't noticed on the way in. Sarah got in behind the wheel and started the electric motor.

"We'll lead the way," Sarah said.

Chuck turned to grin at them. He had a boombox. Kevin felt a spike of anxiety, and was hardly reassured when he recognized the opening riff from _Eye of the Tiger._

He'd never expected to miss Iraq.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Chuck, the show is over. You want your Charah fix from now on, you know where to come. Keep the reviews coming and maybe things will get steamy on that front. Chuck does have a birthday coming up...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I've been reading too much Elmore Leonard lately. Makes for shorter chapters heavy on dialogue.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: Separate Ways<p>

September 27, 2011

"So what's on the schedule over at Quantico today?" Chuck said.

"Didn't you go through something similar back in Prague? Running first, then self defense instruction. We'll let Kevin help out on that, so we can concentrate one on one."

"Good, so I don't have to worry about you wrestling with some other guy all day."

Sarah laughed. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I can work with Laura. I hadn't thought of that." She tried to keep a straight face, but her lip quirked up at the corner after a few seconds.

Chuck glared at her in the rearview mirror.

Sarah drove, as per usual, and Chuck sat in the back with Lisa's carseat, keeping her entertained. They had a mirror rigged so that when Chuck wasn't there she could see her mother, but Sarah had told horror stories of what Lisa got up to when she was alone in the back.

Getting chauffeured around didn't bother him, despite some ribbing he'd begun to take from the others in his cover CIA section. Sure, his boss was a jerk, but the rest of the guys working the Iceland desk—there were four others—were amiable enough. The ribbing had been mostly in good fun. None of them had seen Sarah yet, just the minivan she dropped him off in, and Chuck was relishing the shocked expressions he expected when they finally laid eyes on her.

What bothered him, was that his wife seemed to have forgotten his birthday. Halfway through the trip to Langley he almost said something about it, but Lisa chose that moment to begin wailing. Chuck couldn't get her to quiet down until they were pulling off I-495 at the CIA exit, and he realized it was a dirty diaper that had set her off. Elbow deep in the diaper-bag didn't seem like the right time to broach the subject.

Sarah pulled up to the security kiosk, and rolled down the window. "Chuck, where's your ID?"

"Hang on, hang on," Chuck said. He poked his head between the front seats. "Can… uh… can I borrow your trashcan? We've had something of a diaper… malfunction."

"Oh, god," Sarah said.

"ID," the guard said impassively.

Chuck was tempted to pass him the dirty diaper instead, but he managed to dig out his driver's license without getting baby poop on it, though the security guard didn't seem anywhere near grateful enough.

"Go on through."

"You'd think they'd be okay just checking our license plate off on the clipboard."

"Hey, you know better than that, Chuck," Sarah said. "Somebody could have hijacked the car."

"Seriously? With what? A howitzer?"

Sarah stopped the van, and Chuck got out, still scrubbing his hands with a handful of extra baby-wipes. "Don't antagonize your boss today, please," she said, leaning out the window.

Chuck gave her a brief kiss. "I'll do my best," he waited a moment to give her a chance to wish him a happy birthday.

"I love you. See you at five."

"I love you too," Chuck said, and frowned at the Behemoth's retreating tail-lights. She really forgot his birthday.

The day didn't get any better after he made his way to his cubicle in Intelligence directorate. The pile of folders for him to sift was twice as big as it usually was, since his trip with Kevin to Quantico had cut short his workday yesterday. "Hey, Chuck?" Anders said. He was in the cubicle next to Chuck.

"Yeah?"

"Um... everything okay?"

"Why?"

"You smell kind of... bad, man," the other analyst was shorter than Chuck, and balding. He leaned over the divider and sniffed. "Yeah, that's you. What is that?"

"I don't know what it-" Chuck froze in midsentence. "Aw, hell..." He reached gingerly into his suit pocket, and retrieved Lisa's soiled diaper. Chuck had misplaced it in the confusion at the security checkpoint, right into his pocket. "You mind throwing this away for me?"

"Hell, no. My ex-wife couldn't get me to change diapers, you don't stand a chance."

"Might be the reason she's your ex-wife," Chuck pointed out as he went in search of an isolated trashcan to make the deposit in, so that he could get the smell out of his cubicle. He should have thought to bring air freshener. The mens room trashcan was the most likely spot, and Chuck took his time washing his hands thoroughly before returning to work. Gerald, his new nemesis was waiting for him.

Even though his supervisor was nothing physically like Emmet Milbarge, it was as if he was channeling his spirit. Gerald Delbeccio was an imposing physical specimen, at least an inch or two taller than Chuck, but stoop-shouldered and walking with a slight limp. Word around the Intelligence directorate was that he had been in Operations until he had botched an operation and been wounded, then reassigned to analysing Iceland, so he couldn't get into any more trouble. Since that one rogue Icelandic spy with the crossbow-Magnus Einerson, the Intersect supplied-had been captured, there wasn't a lot on their plate. Icelandic Intelligence was a largely passive organization, but Gerald didn't see it that way.

"You're late, Bartowki!"

"I had to go throw something away."

"You have your own trashcan," he said. "Use that."

"It would have stunk up the place... sir."

"More of your wife's cooking, eh?"

Chuck scowled. The man had no call insulting Sarah's cooking; they seldom had time for a sitdown meal anyway, but between the two of them they made a mean breakfast when there was time. He started to come back with a stinging retort, but he was here to avoid attracting attention to himself.

Instead of continuing the argument he turned to the pile of folders and began work. Gerald frowned when Chuck didn't rise to the bait, and wandered off after the silence drew out awkwardly.

"Wow," Anders said, poking his head back into Chuck's cube. "I thought you were going to punch him."

"Not worth it. I need this job," although, when he thought about it, the only reason he _really_needed this job, was that Sarah had made him take it under his real name. If they'd given him another cover identity Chuck Bartowski wouldn't be on the pay records anywhere. There wasn't anything to do about it now, of course, other than to dig into his backlog of intelligence documents.

He flashed several times throughout the morning, and had to take a handful of Advil with his lunch, but he was mostly done with his sifting by one o'clock. He'd just taken the cart of files to the incinerator and was sitting back at his desk when the call came.

"Chuck! Good, you need to get a cab and meet me at the apartment right away."

"What's wrong? Is Lisa okay?"

"She's fine," Sarah said. "There's a leak in the water pipes and we're flooding the apartment below us. I'm on my way over now, I just got the call from the property manager, but you're closer."

"Okay, I'm on my way," Chuck said. Sarah hung up without saying goodbye.

"Where do you think you're going, Bartowski?" Gerald said, looming from the entrance to Chuck's cube.

"That was my wife," Chuck said. "There's some problem with the pipes, apparently there's a potential flood underway. I gotta go. I'm finished for the day anyway."

"Where's that report on the SDA I asked you to vet yesterday?"

Chuck blinked. "The what?"

"The SDA. Don't you know anything? It's the party with the most seats in the Alþingi Íslendinga."

Chuck stared blankly. Gerald narrowed his eyes. "The Icelandic Parliament. This is going in your performance review! 'Utter failure to perform duties as assigned!' Either start taking your job seriously or I'll have you thrown out of the CIA on your ear, Bartowski!"

"Oh!" Chuck said, digging in his desk drawer. "Sorry, I'm a little frazzled today," he handed over three hundred pages of expert analysis that Myers had contracted to an outside consultant and slapped Chuck's name on. It was the first time Chuck had ever had somebody else do his homework. And he found there was a certain guilty pleasure involved. "Here you go."

Gerald stared at the weighty tome in his hands, eyes wide as pie-plates. "But... it was only a twenty page report... when did you have time to even type all this out?"

Chuck shrugged. "Nothing to it, really. Now, I've really gotta run."

He risked a glance over his shoulder and spotted his supervisor still shocked nearly speechless, standing in between the cubes and looking back and forth from the thick report to Chuck's retreating back.

* * *

><p>He only had to wait a few minutes at the cabstand, before he was headed back to the apartment, and after a sharp comment to the cabbie, they took the shortest way instead of the longest.<p>

Chuck gave him a decent-to-sizable tip and headed into the building. He passed the front office and poked his head in. The office was deserted. Chuck had hoped to have the maintenance man on-call go up with him in case he wasn't up to finding the shut-off by himself.

The elevator always seemed to take forever to show up, so he took the stairs instead, and burst into the apartment. He checked the kitchen first, opening the cabinet under the sink, nothing. He checked the feed line for the ice maker and then headed back to the hall bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary there either.

Sarah was leaning against the door-frame leading from the bedroom into the bath. Chuck stood with his mouth hanging open like an idiot. She was dressed as Seven-of-Nine from Star Trek Voyager, right down to the bodysuit and the fake cybernetic implants and the Starfleet comm-badge. "What..." Chuck managed to get out.

"You thought I forgot your birthday, didn't you, Ensign Bartowski," she said as she sauntered over.

"Meep," Chuck said, backing up unconsciously, until she knocked him over onto the bed with a finger in the sternum. He shook his head and gathered his thoughts. "Uh... wait. Wait. Why did you call me Ensign Bartowski? How did you-?"

Sarah shrugged and climbed onto the bed, on top of him. "You talk in your sleep sometimes. And google helped."

Chuck blushed. "There's no water leak, is there?"

She grinned and and freed her hair from the tight updo she'd required to be fully in character, shook her head so that her blond locks showered everywhere. "Resistance is futile. Happy birthday, Ensign," she whispered just before she kissed him silly.

Afterward, about an hour later, they lay in each others arms, and Chuck frowned. "Where's Lisa?"

"I had Renee pick her up from daycare, and she'll look after her until I'm done with you."

"So, you're not done with me?" Chuck grinned.

Sarah turned to look up at him, eyes alight with purpose, the cyborg-looking parts moving when she raised an eyebrow. "After just the two times? Hardly. Just giving you some time to catch your breath is all. We still have to make up for you giving yourself a concussion and ruining my plans for your birthday last year."

"I didn't have a concussion."

Sarah glared at him for a moment. "Do you want to argue about it? Really? Or would you prefer..." she leaned up and whispered in his ear.

Chuck swallowed nervously, fighting a blush. "Um... wow... I uh..."

"I'll take that as a yes," Sarah said and began kissing her way down the side of his neck, working her way southward. She took a brief side tour to bite his shoulder playfully before continuing down his chest.

The phone rang just as she reached his belly button, and Sarah groaned and pouted up at him for a moment. "Ten to one that's Beckman," Chuck said.

Sarah heaved a sigh. "No bet."

"We can always call her back..."

"Mmm..." Sarah said resuming her exploration. "Good call..."

As it happened, they didn't have to call the General back; Casey showed up banging on the door about forty-five minutes later. Chuck opened the door a crack, and Casey bulled his way into the apartment. "Good, you're alive," he said, before he took in the silk robe of Sarah's that Chuck had stolen from the closet when she refused to let him use the bedsheet. "I take it back, god, what fresh hell have I walked into now?"

"I call it Operation Birthday Surprise Cos-play Sex Marathon," Sarah shouted from the bedroom. Chuck went beet red and Casey growled and shook a finger at him. "How is this my fault? She said there was a problem with the pipes. She tricked me."

Casey screwed up his face in disgust. "You couldn't see through the 'pipes need fixing' metaphor?"

"What metaph-oh."

The Colonel shook his head disgustedly. "Something's come up. Beckman needs you to go to London."

"What?" Sarah demanded, coming out with the topsheet wrapped around her. "We said no missions, remember?"

"What's that on your face?"

"You don't want to know," Chuck said. Casey glared at him and he shrugged. "I'd have to explain like three Star Trek series to you."

"Ugh," Casey said. "Pack a bag, Bartowski."

"Hey!" Sarah said dangerously. "We _said_no missions."

"This is different," Casey said. "Barker's involved and he knows Chuck's the Intersect. He's got one of the Ring Elders that wants to come in from the cold, he's requesting agent Carmichael."

"But they think he's dead, don't they?"

"Exactly," Casey said. "That's why you have to go."

"Damn it," Sarah said. "He's right. Let's get dressed and head out."

"Not you, Walker," Casey said. "We've still got agents to train, and you've got a baby to take care of."

"We?" Sarah said flatly. "You're not sending him alone. If I have to stay, somebody needs to watch his back."

"Hey, I can handle a solo mission, remember?"

"I wasnt planning on sending him alone," Casey said, "We can send Kevin to watch his back; he's just making the others disgruntled on the runs."

"Okay, but I'll need to have a talk with him before they leave, to make sure he knows what'll happen to him if he let's Chuck get hurt."

"Hey, talk _to_me. I'm standing right here."

Sarah patted him absently. "I know. Sorry. When does he need to leave?"

"Why?" Casey said after a long pause. He obviously wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Sarah smirked, but decided against claiming the Marathon wasn't finished yet. "You think he ought to get to kiss our daughter goodbye? She's at my sister's."

Casey grunted.

* * *

><p>Chuck and Sarah sat with Lisa in the back of the Crown Vic on the way to Andrews AFB. Sarah had thrown on a pair of sweats and one of Chuck's t-shirts, but insisted that he wear a suit. The double standard didn't really matter to him. In almost a year since they'd run away together, they hadn't spent a night apart voluntarily, and Sarah was kind of clingy in the backseat. Usually, he loved that, but at the moment, he figured he needed to be reassuring.<p>

"I'll only be gone a couple days at most," Chuck said.

"Don't jinx yourself," Sarah whispered.

"You believe in jinxes now?"

She just looked at him, and Chuck put his arm around her. Sarah curled her legs up across his and leaned into the hug. Lisa was sleeping in her mother's arms, and stirred at the movement, before settling back down.

Chuck reached out and took Lisa's hand, tiny fingers wrapping around his finger even in sleep.

"Just be careful, okay?" Sarah said.

"It'll be fine," he said. Then he grinned. "Cole Barker is kind of a bullet magnet, remember. Bullets will curve away from me to get at him."

She didn't seem to find that funny. "Just... promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," Chuck said. "I didn't know you'd be that worked up about it. I've gone on plenty of missions."

Sarah arched her eyebrow. She still hadn't taken off the stick-on plastic deal from around her eye socket. "Not without me you haven't. Last time we split up for a mission. You got shot in the hip and dangled off a window-washing cart over a twenty story drop. And the time before that, you brought a second girlfriend home."

"That wasn't my fault," Chuck protested. "If we hadn't been pretending to be broken up, I could have talked about this blond bombshell I had back home and how amazing she is."

"Anybody I know?"

Chuck rested his forehead against hers. "Quit fishing for complements Mrs. Bartowski, or I'll miss my flight."

"They can't leave without you," Sarah pointed out. Their lips met briefly, but she pushed forward to keep the contact when Chuck started to pull away. He came back and she put a hand in his hair to keep him there. She tilted her head, opening her mouth slightly, trying to deepen the kiss. Chuck responded, and they were almost in full make-out mode, when Casey cleared his throat from the front seat.

"If I have to hose out the back seat, I'm charging you two for the detailing later."

Sarah let out a sigh and pulled away, giving Casey a baleful look. He grunted and eyed Chuck in the rearview mirror. "Need to go fix your makeup, Bartowski?"

"Get some new material, John. There's only so many ways you can call me the girl in my marriage."

"That's true," Casey said. "But that number is so large I've barely scratched the surface."

"I could swear you've used that one before, though," Chuck said.

"No, I think that's a new one, Chuck."

"Traitor."

Sarah just gave him a flat look, then pointed to the borg implants she wore. "Really? After all the work I put into your birthday present?"

"The good kind of traitor?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. Chuck opened his door and leaned in for a kiss. This time they did make it brief. "Come back to me," she said.

Chuck grinned. "Always."

* * *

><p>Kevin was already waiting in the new Gulfstream business jet. He merely nodded to Chuck when he entered, and slumped in the plush seat, ankles crossed, and began snoring softly. Chuck wondered idly how the man did that, just turned himself off like a light, when it was necessary. The Air Force Warrant Officer acting as flight attendant made sure Chuck got buckled before he went forward and told the pilot they could depart. Chuck squirmed in his chair trying to get comfortable and the plane rocketed down the runway. He watched out the window as long as he could, until the Crown Vic faded off down to a pinprick and was gone. It took him a couple of minutes to shake off the foreboding feeling creeping up on him. He <em>would<em> come back to her.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry I didn't get this chapter up last night, my computer was being difficult. Thanks for all the reviews, and keep 'em coming. The next chapter is planned for Friday as usual.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I feel like its now standard convention to have something to say to introduce a chapter, but I don't know why that is. That is all.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Countdown<p>

CIA Gulfstream V

Somewhere over the Altlantic

Chuck's phone chimed. He frowned and pulled it out of his coat pocket. The oddity wasn't lost on him; they were at 40,000 feet, and cell phones were prohibited. Actually, he didn't remember anybody telling him to turn off his phone. He remembered the special phone they'd given him for his first solo Mission. Somebody must have upgraded him when he wasn't looking. The chime had been a text from Sarah.

He flicked the slider and glanced at the text. And then his eyes widened. He covered up the screen and glanced around the cabin, making sure nobody had seen the content of the message. That wasn't appropriate for public consumption, he was absolutely certain. Another text came in. And Chuck went into a coughing fit before he was finished reading. God that was dirty. He scrambled to come up with a response before she sent him anything worse, defuse the situation if possible, but... it wasn't that he really minded the idea of 'sexting,' they had done a little of that when they'd been working their triple cover back in Burbank-to sell their fake breakup in Prague-it was just the Warrant Officer who was serving as Flight attendant had just walked by, and now here he came again. Chuck shaded the screen with his hand and tried to shake off the feeling that the man had been eavesdropping on the texts. Another text came through, and Chuck peeked at it. It was a picture message.

"Hiyo."

"What's so important it can't wait until we land," Kevin said from the seat across from him.

Chuck clapped the phone to his chest guiltily. "Nothing..."

"Gotta be something."

"She misses me."

"Ah, baby pictures?"

"Let's say... yes. And change the subject."

"Fine by me. What the hell is this trip about, you mind telling me?"

"Yeah. I can do that. We didn't really read you guys in on the history did we?"

"Just-" he turned and caught the Flight Attendant's eye. "Ears only, bro. Go see if the pilot needs something?" Once the man was out of earshot, Kevin turned back. "Just the computery bits. A little over my head."

"Well we've gone up against a couple of rogue spy agencies. The most recent is called the Ring, same guys we took on in Afghanistan. Never really did get a read on what they were after besides getting their hands on an Intersect of their very own. You remember Shaw? With us then too?"

"No. Well, he used a different ? Sommerset? Something like- no, Sorenson!"

Chuck blinked. "Wow, good memory. I'd forgotten that cover identity. He kind of threw that on us at the last minute. Anyway. He blew himself up and took out most of their leadership."

"He blew _himself_ up?"

"They were behind his wife getting killed," Chuck said."Understandably, he took it a little personal. Not the point. We're pretty sure some new player swooped in and took over the whole shebang. That's who we convinced Charles Carmichael died in a helicopter crash."

"Okay, the 'New Ring', for lack of a better term, thinks you're dead. Point being?"

"The guy trying to turn himself in thinks I'm alive. Get it?"

"No. No I don't get it."

"That means he's an Original Recipe Ring Elder, who survived the takeover. He's been on the run for almost a year."

"Is that what we're calling them?"

"Focus," Chuck said. "That means he's got no loyalty to the current regime. Maybe he gives us information on the man behind the curtain, how they set up their communications. The sky's the limit. So far all we've got is a name: Volkoff. Doesn't turn up in any databases anywhere. Maybe it's an assumed identity, we just don't know. This is the break we've been expecting."

"Expecting?"

"Right down to the country he turned up in."

Kevin sat forward in his plush chair. "Seriously. No CIA prestige games. Really? You knew this was coming."

"Myers was the one who first brought it up, back in August. But yeah."

Kevin scrunched up his nose. "Oh, good, so there is a plan. Felt kind of thrown together at the last minute."

"Well, it is. Thrown together at the last minute. We were hoping we'd have more time. That maybe we'd have three or four Intersect agents up and running when this call came in, not just me."

"Huh. Yeah. What if you get captured? CIA can't want to risk losing an Intersect. What if this is a trap? What if they're just trying to get their hands on an Intersect."

"That's why you're here. Make sure I don't get into any trouble.'  
>"Assuming I can't. Is there a backup plan?"<p>

"Yeah. S&T rigged an emergency un-install," he gestured to his watch. "I can wipe the datafiles out of my brain but keep the skills in case I need them to escape."

"Oh. That's actually pretty cool."

"It's not foolproof, by any means," Chuck said, "and if I actually have to _do_ any escaping, Sarah's probably going to kill you."

Kevin put his head down. "Perfect. Why did you come along then? Why not send Casey?"

"He's training the others," Chuck said.

"But its a hell of a risk sending the only Intersect on a mission like this."

"Never stopped them before," Chuck said. "Afghanistan ringing any bells?"

"This seems like a mission for the SAS, or a SEAL team or something, not two guys."

"Secrecy is paramount. We can't read anybody else in and we had to send somebody. I guess we could have sent Myers, but the DDO attracts more attention than we do. And I've got a friend in SIS,"Chuck said. "We'll _have_ backup. MI-5 most likely."

"You sure you can trust him? I thought you didn't want to read anybody else in?"

"He's known I'm the intersect for more than two years," Chuck said. "And he took a bullet for me. Well, for Sarah, but I kind of see it as the same thing."

"Oh. How did that happen?"

"Long story. Involves a scary lady with needles trying to torture us... and rogue scientists. And... I think a car chase. It was a whole thing. I wouldn't want to bore you. No the car chase was when the Yakuza tried to bomb the Japanese Ambassador's car. Actually, I've been in a _lot_ of car chases. They kind of bleed together."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "This from the self-professed king of the nerds. The _car__ chases_ bleed together..."

"You've never been in a car chase?"

Kevin shook his head.

Chuck's phone beeped again. He glanced at the screen and then blushed furiously, eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

"More baby pictures?"

Chuck swallowed and shook his head very slowly.

* * *

><p>SAS Base<p>

Near Hereford

3:00 a.m. GMT

The man who'd met them at Heathrowe had actually carried a cardboard sign that said 'CIA', in what had to be the most perverse bit of counter-espionage Kevin had ever heard of, much less seen. Who would believe that the sign was meant seriously. A joke between old friends, people would assume, and dismiss. He shook his head as the helicopter hovered over the helipad. He'd been a fan of Monty Python since he was twelve. But surreal British humor seemed much less hilarious when exposed to it in person. Two men were standing off to one side near the helipad, and the pilot pointed them out. "There's the welcoming committee, lads."

"Thank you," Chuck said into the helmet interphones, before he tugged the flight helmet off and jumped down from the open side of the RAF Puma helicopter. The rotor wash nearly knocked them both down, but it was over a moment later, when the chopper swept up and away. Kevin was a step behind him.

Cole Barker nodded greeting. Kevin recognized his face from the briefing folder.

Chuck said something. But the sound of the helicopter drowned him out. Cole grinned and held up a hand to wait and Chuck shrugged.

Once the racket had died down Cole held out his hand. Chuck took it. "Been awhile, agent-"

"Barton," Chuck interrupted. "It's Barton."

"Who's your friend?" Cole said.

"Agent Woods," Kevin said. "Who's your's?"

"Major Reardon, SAS" the man said, and Kevin took in his black combat fatigues for the first time. "I'm in command of A Squadron. We'll be your backstop on this run."

Kevin fought the reflex to stand at attention, even though showing up at the home of the SAS felt like coming home. There was something intangible in the air. It reminded him of the beginning of his second tour, at Fort Bragg, linking up with the men who would form his Delta Force squad. Major Reardon glanced at him and Kevin felt himself being measured by the older man.

"Ex-military?"

"Delta," Kevin said.

"You're the sharp end, then."

"You might say that."

"We'll get you kitted out, leave the spooks to their secret meetings," Reardon said, nodding for Kevin to follow. "CIA wouldn't let you bring anything in the way of weapons, I expect," he said once Kevin fell in beside him.

Kevin pulled aside the flap of his suit coat to reveal his 45 holstered on his left hip. "Never leave home without it."

"Bloody Colonials and their pistols."

"Actually, it's a family heirloom. I think you still call it the Great War over here?"

Reardon nodded to himself, taking that into his thinking. "Must be some family. What year?"

"'15," Kevin said.

"And it still shoots?"

"Not much use otherwise. Had to replace the barrel before I shipped out to Afghanistan."

"Fancy a match? Range is open all night."

"What's the bet? I make it a policy not to take money from a superior officer."

"Cheeky bastard. I like that. Standard bet. Pints at the local pub."

"Done."

* * *

><p>"So," Cole said, when Kevin and the Major were out of earshot. "You weren't very subtle stopping me putting my foot in my mouth. Carmichael is..."<p>

"Dead. Helicopter crash, wife and newborn daughter too. Very sad."

Cole blinked and then boomed a laugh. "Congratulations. Pity I missed Walker big as a house. Must have been a bloody nightmare."

Chuck shrugged. He hadn't minded; it had slowed her down enough that if he needed to run away during a hormone induced moodswing, he could accomplish it without resorting to the Intersect. Sarah had declared Intersect-parkour 'cheating' very early on.

"I didn't hear about your demise. And I probably should have. I take it that knowledge is not for general consumption..."

"No more so than any Top Secret Intel. Certain people of our mutual acquaintance are aware though, yes."

"Hm. But not the chap wants to deal," Cole said. "Interesting. If he's that far out of the loop at the moment... He might really be on the up-and-up then."

"You thought he was a plant," Chuck said. "Hence the SAS backup and not MI-5? Isn't counter-espionage their territory, like our FBI?"

"It is, but somebody's got a man in Five," Cole admitted.

"That's just what we need. How do you know?"

"There's a Russian connection," Cole said. "We've got a man in FSB."

"Volkoff?" Chuck said.

"No," Cole said. "Never heard of him."

"Too much to hope for; he's a damn ghost. Took over the Ring after Shaw blew up most of the leadership in LA. We think Volkoff's been hunting down the remnants of the Old Ring that won't answer to him. Gives our friend a good reason to want to come in. You set up a meeting yet?"

"It's on for tomorrow. I mean tonight, at nineteen hundred. Seven o'clock to you. Probably try to change the location at the last minute. It's what I'd do in his spot."

"So, what do we do," Chuck said. A yawn broke the sentence in two, "Until then?"

"SAS is always undermanned," Cole said. "I'll get you someplace in the Officers' quarters. Go have a few winks."

* * *

><p>A few winks turned out not to be all that many; some jerk with a bugle woke everyone up not even a good handful of hours later, and Chuck watched what seemed like everyone trot out and attempt to run themselves to death. Chuck frowned from the doorway of his guest quarters. It was too cold for running. Maybe mid forties, but the wind chill meant it felt like just above freezing. And-he shook his head-there went Kevin, in just a borrowed pair of sweats and a t-shirt. "Hey!" Kevin called when he spotted Chuck just standing there.<p>

"You gotta come run too."

"Are you crazy?" Chuck said back.

Kevin shook his head, jogging in place. "Come on, it's..." he thought for a moment. "It's a matter of national pride. We've got to show these guys we're just as good as they are."

"How many miles does that entail?"

"Five, I think. Whatever a 10K is."

"I'll say it again. You're crazy. It's freezing out."

"Please, it's a brisk September morning," Kevin said. "Get your blood pumping and your mind clear. Don't you and Sarah go for runs in the mornings?"

"She's much more persuasive than you," Chuck said.

Kevin laughed. "You want the SAS guys talking about how CIA can't hold up their end?"

"You're CIA."

"They know I used to be Delta Force. I don't count as CIA."

Chuck scowled and heaved a much put-upon sigh. "I'll be out in a minute." There were running clothes and a pair of shoes laid out on the dresser; somebody had planned this ahead of time. The shoes were even the right size. It should have come as a shock, but he'd been around Sarah long enough to know the game here. Either Kevin had told them, or it was the kind of status games that went along with life in the intelligence community. Letting Chuck know they knew all this stuff about him, right down to his shoe size. Cole had basically been living in Castle when he'd first blown into Chuck's life. He could just imagine the man noting down every little tiny detail just to use it for shock and awe value later.

Chuck actually keeping up with the SAS troops turned out to have been a wildly optimistic notion on Kevin's part. At least at first, Kevin stayed with Chuck; they were about the same height, Kevin maybe an inch shorter. But Chuck was puffing after a mile, sweating even in the cold, and Kevin looked like he wasn't even winded in the slightest. After two miles, Chuck's pace started to slow. There hadn't been time lately with the baby, and his work at the CIA to keep up Sarah's pre-pregnancy workout regime.

Kevin grinned and turned around, running backwards and still keeping ahead of Chuck. "Come on, Barton, Eye of the Tiger!"

Chuck groaned. He knew that was going to come back to haunt him. Kevin probably planned that from the beginning. He needed to wipe that smile off Kevin's face, but he could barely get a decent lungful of air, there was no way-the flash was a new one on him. All kinds of fancy breathing techniques, running the gamut from Circular breathing for trumpet players to lamasse. Chuck's steps faltered and he nearly flew into a headlong sprawl, only just catching himself at the last minute.

"You alright?" Kevin said.

Chuck took a deep breath and surged forward. He still wasn't anywhere near as well-conditioned as Kevin or the SAS troops; Kevin came back and passed him after another minute.

But the flash gave him a second wind, letting him nearly keep up with Kevin. He finished the five miles in a respectable time, he thought. He was drenched in sweat and gasping for air by then of course, but Kevin hadn't gotten more than a hundred yards ahead of him.

Kevin and the SAS Major were waiting for him. Kevin had a cheese-eating grin and a stopwatch in his hand. The younger man had a light sheen of sweat on his face. Chuck wanted to punch him right then, just for being younger and in better shape.

"Ungh..." Chuck said.

"Not bad for a CIA desk man," Reardon said. Kevin showed Chuck his time.

Forty one minutes, twenty seven seconds. "Only ninety seconds off though, if you ever wanted to go through Ranger school."

Chuck shook his head feebly and aimed a glare at the younger CIA agent. "I didn't know you were timing me." He wasn't really mad at Kevin, as much as he was disappointed in himself. Chuck remembered running a 10K back at Stanford in just under thirty six minutes. And he hadn't even risked drowning in his own sweat back then. Five and a half minutes' pace he'd lost. Chuck cringed when he remembered that he'd cheated even to get that close to his old best.

He finally saw Sarah's exercise routine in a new light, watching the somewhat grim determination the SAS men had on their runs. Running was about more than just being able to keep up with Sarah in the bedroom, it was a _survival_ skill. Somewhere along the way while he'd sat around all those years after Stanford feeling sorry for himself, he'd lost sight of that.

Kevin frowned at him. "You alright, Chuck?"

"Mfine..." he said, still trying to get his breath back. He realized he was clenching his jaw, and forced himself to relax.

* * *

><p>After lunch, Kevin dragged him to the pistol range. It was loud, and they had to wear ear protection, but they could still hear each other if they raised their voices. "What was that about?" Kevin said while loading his 45.<p>

"I don't want to talk about it."

Kevin frowned and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, watching him fiddle with the borrowed 9mm. "Well, what _do_ you want to talk about."

Chuck glared at him and snapped the filled magazine into the butt of his pistol, racked the action and squeezed off two shots. Then simply emptied the magazine. Ten rounds in quick succesion. His hands stung.

Kevin peered down the firing line and nodded. "Not bad. Mostly nines and tens. A couple in the X-ring. Just the one six low and right. But that's probably just because you slapped the trigger a little hard on that first one." Chuck scowled at him. "What?"

"I ran track in college."

"That's what this is. Okay, so did I. But have you run five miles every morning since you were ten?"

"Since you were _ten__?"_

"Woodcomb family tradition since 1994."

"Gadzooks."

"That and I'm getting extra runs lately out at Quantico; I think I may go out for the Boston Marathon next year."

"Urgh," Chuck said.

"I'm also ten years younger than you."

"Five."

"What?"

"I'm only thirty two."

"Uh-oh."

"I'm not getting a lot of rest. Lisa still doesn't sleep through the night. And I miss Sarah."

"Yeah, that'd put anybody in a bad mood," Kevin said. "You use the intersect for that bit of shooting just now?"

"No."

"Good," he scooped up his 45 and put all eight straight through the X-ring. It was just one ragged hole when he was finished. "Wouldn't want you feeling sorry for yourself all day. We've got work tonight."

* * *

><p>Chuck barely had time to call Sarah before the planning meeting. "Hey," Sarah said, voice still full of sleep.<p>

"Hey, yourself. What time is it there?"

"Eight," Sarah said. She let out a sigh. "I'm at the doctor."

"What? What happened. Is Lisa-?"

"She's fine. Don't have a stroke. The nurse thinks its a cold."

"You doing okay?" Chuck said. "You sound a little rough around the edges."

"Yeah," Sarah said. "I didn't get any sleep at all. I figured it was just colic, until she started running a fever. How's it going over there?"

"Could be better," Chuck said. "We need to start running every morning."

She laughed softly. "Casey called earlier all jealous you get to hang out with the SAS for a day. They made an impression I take it."

"Actually it was Kevin. I need to be able to do something better than the recruits without the Intersect."

"Were you ever a distance runner?"

"Not competitively," Chuck said. "110 meter hurdles."

Silence. "No, seriously."

"Why is that funny?"

"Did I laugh?"

"I can hear you smirking."

"No you can't."

"Call Quantico, make sure they've got a good set of hurdles. I'm gonna show you something when I get back," Chuck said. "And now you're laughing again."

"Is it weird to say I miss you after only one night?"

"No, Sarah. No it isn't. Dang, I'm getting the wrap it up signal from Kevin," Chuck said. "I've got to go, they want to go over the setup for tonight."

"Be careful," she said.

"Hey, it's me," Chuck said, grinning. At the phone. "You see what I did there?"

"Sigh."

"Did you just_ say_ the word 'sigh' at me?" Chuck said. "Okay, now I'm getting the finger tapping the watch. I've really gotta go. Love you."

"No baby, don't start-" Lisa's wail cut in on the line. "I Gotta go too, and I love you too."

* * *

><p>"Glad you could join us, Agent Barton," Cole said when Chuck came through the door. There were satellite photos of London splayed all over the conference table. The planning session had started without him.<p>

Chuck winced. "My three month old daughter is sick."

Major Reardon looked up from the pictures. "She going to be alright?"

"Just a cold."

"Overprotective wife. We've all dealt with that."

Chuck pursed his lips. The man meant well, but he'd obviously never met Sarah. Chuck let it go. "What's the plan?"

"You've been apprised of our situation with MI-5?"

"Yes. A little..."

Reardon nodded. "We've got a Five man cleared in, Century House says definitively trustworthy. Supposed to be here any minute. But, we'll bear on without-"

"There you are, old Pot and Pan."

Reardon's mouth opened halfway and he blinked at the new arrival. She was about Sarah's height, with her dark hair cut short, wearing a somewhat utilitarian black suit. "Liz?"

Cole smiled his most charming smile and offered his hand. "Cole Barker."

She raised an eyebrow and left him hanging. "Agent Liz Reardon, MI-5. You blokes from CIA?"

"Chuck Barton, and Kevin Woods," Chuck said. "Pleased to meet you."

"You're the MI-5 man?" Major Reardon demanded.

"Good to see you too, dad."

Cole blinked and looked between the major and Liz, and then his expression shifted. Chuck was standing next to him. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Later," Cole said. "Major, shall we move this along?"

He stared hard at his daughter for a moment before he nodded. "The way I see it, our primary concern is overwatch. If he comes alone like he said we're home in time for pints. If he doesn't, or if he tries to make a run for it, we need boots on the ground. I'm giving you two squads, eight men each plus drivers. They'll deploy out of armored vans set up here and here at the ends of the block."

"Won't he try to change locations on us?" MI-5 Agent Reardon said.

"It'll be close enough that we can change positions on the fly, if we have to, love," the Major said. "It's not a standard deployment, but it's close enough. Barker, Woods, Barton and... Liz, you'll accompany the two sniper elements in the third van. When we get the location of the new meet, you'll drop them off. We've got a computer program generating a list of sight-lines all over the city, by this evening, we'll be able to post the sniper-observers with line of sight on anything this side of Buckingham palace.

Then it's simply a matter of having the ground squads in place by the time you set up for the meeting. I'll be orbiting the scene with a third squad, in the helicopter in case the ground squads get stuck in traffic. We can do a long rope deployment from the heli if we have to, and then go ferry the other squads in the same way if things go to hell. That's likely a worst case scenario.

It's up to you to make sure that doesn't become a reality," Reardon said.

"How many men are going on this operation?"

"Just under thirty."

"Isn't that a little like overkill?" Chuck said.

There was a brief moment where everyone stared at him. "There's no such thing, Barton," Reardon said. "I'm not happy we don't have a concrete meeting location, but the fact is that the current plan can be reproduced on any street in London within minutes of when we get the notification."

"Any objections from MI-5?"

"I'll have final say before anyone fires a shot," Liz said. She looked directly at Cole when she said it. "Your reputation precedes you Agent Barker."

"One time he shot down a helicopter with a pistol," Chuck said.

"None of that this time, please," Major Reardon said. "I'll be riding in the only one should be anywhere near pistol range. Anything else? Then, we'll assemble for the operation in an hour."

Everyone filed out and Chuck lagged behind with Cole. "Is now good? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You were practically scowling at her," Chuck said. "What happened to the Cole Barker I had to practically beat off my wife with a stick last year."

"I wasn't that bad, was I?" Cole said. "I gave her standard married bird levels of flirting. Now to a layman, that may have looked excessive. I really was very restrained."

"Okay, then," Chuck said. "What level of flirting do you call that with the MI-5 lady?"

"Special circumstances."

Chuck said. "So how does that work?"

Cole held his hand up at eye level. "Standard level," he moved the hand down by his side to chest-height. "Married bird," another few inches to his ribs. "Old lady levels." He stooped and touched the floor briefly. "Father commands four troops of the hardest bastards on earth."

"Cole Barker, afraid of a challenge?"

"More like a healthy respect for an overprotective father with a dozen confirmed sniper kills from more than 1500 meters."

Chuck nodded. "I can see the logic in that. And you saw how she was checking out the much more age-appropriate Agent Woods."

"And there's that."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I figured I'd spare you the thoroughly EVIL cliffhanger. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out by Monday, but it's going to be pretty complicated, so it might be Tuesday.

Thanks for the reviews everybody. Please keep them coming if you've got the time, I appreciate any feedback.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: So, I've apparently got the Flu. Despite getting a flu vaccine only a few months ago. I've been so miserable that to make my self-imposed Monday deadline for this chapter, I've had to break a chapter up into two once more. And once again, I've spared you the EVIL cliffhanger. See if you can figure out where the original chapter break was going to be.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: I Should Have Known Better<p>

"Six to all points," Reardon said from his orbiting position in the helicopter. "Eye's on the subject, ready positions lads." He was a couple blocks away, closer than people would expect thanks to the new rotor developed recently for special operations. There was science involved that interested Chuck, but Kevin and the SAS snipers had just been glad that it lessened their helis' noise profile.

Thanks to the technical innovation, Reardon was close enough, with his high powered binoculars, to spot the telltales they had agreed on with the surrendering Ring Elder. A white rose in his lapel and a red scarf hanging loose around his shoulders. "Team one, he should be passing you any—"

"One Lead, got him Six," the leader of the SAS squad at the south end of the block keyed into his radio. "'S got bags under his eyes; that is one sad sack of a Rogue Spy, lads."

"Keep the chatter down, One," Reardon said.

He clicked the transmit button twice in acknowledgment. A moment later, a new voice came over the radio circuit to Chuck and Cole in the restaurant. "Rifle 1 is on target."

That quickly followed by: "Rifle 2 is on target. He's fifty yards to the door."

"Six, everyone keep an eye out for tails."

"One Lead, the road's deserted behind him. 'Less they've got a heli of their very own. But that's down to you, Six. Anyone up there with you stand out?"

"Alright, Lancaster," Reardon said. "Stop taking the piss."

Again the two clicks to confirm acknowledgment.

"Rifle 2, heads up spooks, you're on."

Chuck was staring at the door when a man in his later fifties came through the door, wearing a dark overcoat with a white rose and red scarf as agreed. His hair was the color of slate tile and he was thin, with a developing paunch around the midsection. At his secong glance, he spotted the darkness around his eyes that Team One's squad leader had noted, and a kind of melancholy in his gait.

Cole closed his menu, flapped it once to fan himself and placed it on the table. That was their signal to the man. They still didn't have his name. Hopefully that would change soon. The Ring Elder came over and sat down.

"I'm surprised you didn't change meeting locations."

He shrugged. "Are you Carmichael."

"Carmichael's dead," Chuck said, without elaborating further.

Cole nodded at Chuck. "This is agent Barton; he's taken over the CIA operation looking for you and your friends."

"All my friends are dead," he said, and Chuck could practically see him radiating self-pity and despair. If the Ring hadn't been actively trying to capture or kill him and dissect his brain for two years he might have felt bad for the man.

"Well," Cole said, "Let's get the preliminaries out of the way; were you followed?"

The Elder shrugged. "I know how to both spot and ditch a tail, agent Barker."

"What about a name," Chuck said.

"Nathaniel Barnard," he said.

Cole shot a glance at Chuck, but he didn't flash on the name. It had been a hope on his part. "That an alias? Time for that sort of thing is over."

"I've had so many aliases over the past year, I hardly remember half of them. I could list some of them if that would help," Barnard said. "No, Nathaniel Barnard I was born, and am again. It feels… oddly refreshing."

Chuck had to fight not to scowl. Why was the man so… ordinary… so sympathetic? It was ruining any pleasure Chuck might have felt at seeing one of his enemies discomfited. "I've got to ask you," Chuck said. "Looking through Carmichael's files, it's clear you and your friends were trying to build an working Intersect, first with FULCRUM taking the lead, and then all out with the entire organization. There's not even a hint as to why? Were you hoping to make your own super-soldiers? That's what we've always assumed, I'd just like to know for certain."

"Roark wanted it for that, he was obsessed, off the reservation. That is why we tied up that particular loose end. It was never about anything but money."

"What?" Chuck said. "How would that work?"

"We were offered a truly staggering amount of money if we could produce a functioning Intersect."

"How much?" Cole said at the same time Chuck asked, "By who?"

"Twenty billion Euros, by Alexei Volkoff."

Chuck's jaw dropped open.

It was an odd kind of tense in the van holding the eight SAS troops that made up Team One. They were parked up the street from the restaurant where Barker and Barton were meeting their man, all peering out the tinted windows, scanning for possible threats. There was only light traffic. The man they were here to take into custody picked it well for counter surveillance. There had only been a handful of cars pass by in the last few minutes. It was a struggle to maintain focus for all involved. One Lead, Bartleby Lancaster was no exception. He found himself telling himself stories about the people who might live in the apartment building two blocks down where Rifle 2 had his sniper perch, and doing the same for every vehicle that passed.

That was the reason he felt his hackles rise, perhaps. "One Lead, everybody on alert. Van a hundred meters our six just clipped a side mirror on a Rolls. Going slow, but it didn't even miss a beat. Should have touched the brakes at least if he isn't totally sloshed. Something's wro— bloody hell! There's no damn driver!" His instincts were screaming at him, even though he didn't have enough information yet for this to be so. "Two—"

"Roger, Bart," Team Two Lead cut him off. "Second van approaching our end, it's coordinated. Requesting Weapons Free, Five."

"Done," Liz said without a moment's hesitation. "Do 'em."

"Get us moving, Corp!" Lancaster shouted to his driver, and the young soldier gunned the engine, taking them forward and into the street. The driverless van had covered nearly half the distance by the time the SAS troops threw open the sliding doors and opened fire. Their weapons were mostly suppressed submachineguns, german-made MP-5s, and the sound didn't give the fact of the firefight away to anyone not directly watching it. The men of Team One had all worked together for years, and divided the approaching vehicle amongst themselves without having to discuss it. Lancaster and his Sergeant took out the front tires, sitting on the floor of the empty cargo area. Two more troops stood and fired over their heads, focusing on the driver's side of the windshield at head-height and the grill of the engine; the hope was that they could break the engine block and stop the rogue van before it could plow into their own vehicle. Once Lancaster and the Sergeant put their first 3-round burst into the tires, they shifted aim for the engine as well. The bullet impacts were louder than the suppressed weapons they used.

The van lurched to a stop twenty-five meters away. "I'm going to check it out," the Sergeant said. Lancaster grimaced, and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"No wait," he said.

"Two Lead, for One," the man said in Lancaster's ear. "Our's had some kind of remote controlled puppet driving the bloody thing, same on your end?"

Lancaster blinked, and knew at once. "Get back!" he said, "Cover, everybody, cover!" He grabbed the pull-strap and slung the sliding door closed, praying that the composite armor in their van would hold. Only a handful of seconds later, the disabled van went up in a bloom of light and heat and a roar of sound.

In the third van, parked just out front of the restaurant, Kevin and Liz craned their heads to look in opposite directions and see two horrible similar catastrophes. Team one's Van was on its side, half-crumpled from the blast-wave, but still mostly in one piece. Team two's van was split open like a soup can, the armor shredded on the side nearest to the explosion. Their attacker had gotten much closer. Two men were visible lying in the street, and the rest were crouched behind nearby parked cars. Lancaster's warning had given them just enough time to get behind something solid, but none of them were ready to continue the fight.

It seemed like a switch flipped in Kevin's head. He went from sitting and chatting with a nice English girl, to a year ago on his second combat tour. Anyone with a weapon who wasn't a teammate was an enemy combatant, and he had his 45 out before he really even made that leap consciously. They were under attack, and explosives laden vehicles were only the beginning, signaling the beginning of god only knew what.

"Hellfire!" Major Reardon bellowed over the radio circuit. The pilot flinched slightly and the heli juddered in midair along with it, but the man mastered his aircraft and his nerves after a moment. "One Lead, status. Barty, are you bloody alive?"

"Infra-red seeker! Taking evasive!" the pilot's voice on the helicopter interphones, not the radio net.

"Sniper teams," Reardon said. Somehow he was composed again after his outburst. "We've got a MANPAD locking on, need a hand if you've got a tic."

Despite being hooked into the SAS radio conversation, Chuck was surprised by the roar of twin explosions when the vans were hit. Reardon's voice shouting over the radio link sent Chuck staring frantically, wildly around the interior of the restaurant. Before, Cole and he had both scoped the people at the other tables, at the bar, trying to decide whether they were threats or not. One Chuck had pegged as a threat immediately, a huge bear of a man, pale of hair and with a facial scar. Chuck turned in the direction of the obvious threat, the steak knife flipping into his hand to throw as the flash took him.

But the huge threatening patron was even more shocked by the explosion than Chuck. He ducked under his table and stayed there. A youngish, hip looking couple at the bar on the other hand—the woman was pulling a pair of tiny compact submachineguns out of a stylish handbag that Chuck hadn't ever thought could hold them. He opened his mouth, shouting "Gun!" even as the woman tossed one of the boxlike weapons to her companion. Chuck kicked his chair backward out from under him and put his shoulder into the edge of the table. It was heavy oak, better than two inches thick and he grunted with the effort, but gotit moving up onto its side. It would have to work as cover.

Cole and Nathaniel Barnard dove in opposite directions; Barker rolled and kicked over a second table, coming up into a crouch with his pistol already out and aimed.

The flashbang grenade hit Cole's makeshift barrier and bounced to a stop right at Chuck's feet. He kicked out at it, squeezed his eyes shut, tried to cover his ears, inadvertently falling into 'the Morgan' in the moment of stress. A wisp of a second later the world went white.

The white flare of a flashbang going off sundered the restaurant's front windows, and a few moments later, two pairs of gunmen—no, two couples, men and women—hauling someone slumped between them. He saw a flash of the man's red scarf; they were kidnapping the Ring Elder. Kevin reached for his 45 and flicked off his seatbelt. "You armed?"

Liz shook her head. "No, that's why we brought SAS."

"Awesome," Kevin said. "You know how to shoot one?"

"Have you met my da?"

"Okay, we've got that at least, I can get you a gun." He was torn between his armed services instincts to seek and destroy the enemy, and the necessity to stay in place and . And here they were in his rearview mirror, but it would mean leaving Liz to fend for herself. Everything was happening too quickly. A van seemed to appear out of nowhere, similar enough to the SAS vans that it fooled Kevin for a split-second.

The rogue van screeched to a halt and more gunmen piled out, two heading toward Kevin and Liz' position in their own van.

"What do we do?"

"I've got this," Kevin said, praying it was true.  
>The two gunmen trotting up behind Kevin and Liz' van split up, one going to either side of the line of parked cars. "This is Rifle One," Kevin's radio crackled. "Two bogey's heading your way, Woods. I've only got a shot on one of them."<p>

"Take it, then see if you can disable the van."

"Leaves you hanging in the breeze," Rifle One said.

"They're making off with our target," Kevin said, "I can handle myself."

"Got him," Rifle One said.

The gunman who'd gone along the street-side crumpled with a sniper round in his throat, but the second continued on, hugging the side of the line of cars. Kevin slipped out of the passenger seat and back into the cargo area. The Ring Agent—he must be—was nearing their van. "Liz, give a shout when he's alongside."

Kevin had his 45 out in his left hand, and grabbed the latch of the sliding door with his right. "Go!" Liz shouted.

He turned his shoulder and flung the door back and open, the Ring Agent's eyes had time to widen, before Kevin's right arm lashed out and he seized the man's weapon, keeping it out of line with anyone in the van. Kevin put the muzzle of his 45 right under the gunman's jawline angled upward in the same movement, and pulled the trigger. As the dying man slumped, Kevin used his grip on the man's subgun to haul it off over the man's head and fit the sling over his own head even as he jumped down to the street. He safed the weapon, turned forward, handing off the smoking 45 to Liz through the right-side driver's window and continuing around the front of the van.

He flicked the smg back to the 3-round burst setting as he went to a knee and sent two bursts into the driver's side of the windshield. The muzzle flare blanked his sight picture for an instant, but when it came back, there was a spider-maze of lines in the glass, but no bullet holes. Kevin keyed his radio, "Van's armored, take them down outside if you can."

"Roger," Rifle One's voice came back over the radio, a split-second before one of the gunmen wrestling the Ring Elder into the van slumped against the side of the van with his head rent open by a sniper round. "Angle's wrong for any more, Woods," Rifle One said. "Rifle Two, you got anything?"

"Busy keeping the SAM from killing Major Reardon and our heli, One."

"Awesome," Kevin said. He put another three-round burst into each front tire, but the vehicle refused to slump down over the flats. Must have special tires of some kind. His line of sight wasn't good, so Kevin had to step out into the street himself to draw a bead on the gunmen. They finally succeeded in shoving the rogue Ring Elder into the van, and Kevin put another three-round burst from his captured smg through one of the gunmen as he hopped up into the getaway van. The stricken gunman slumped, but someone hauled him the rest of the way inside, and a moment later, the van lurched forward. Kevin put the rest of the magazine into the hood and grill of the approaching van before he had to roll out of the way.

He came back to his feet and tried to make out the license plate on the retreating van, but it had none. Kevin grimaced. "Woods for Six, they're heading South out of the AO, you're our only viable pursuit element right now."

"Rifle two, Six. SAM element is down, you're clear."

"We're on them, Woods," Reardon's voice over the radio was very welcome. "Check in on the ground teams. Rifle Two, get down there to help secure the scene. Rifle One, maintain overwatch."

"Rifle Two for Woods. We're closer to team one."

"Acknowledged," Kevin said. "We'll clear the restaurant first."

"Chuck! Chuck snap out of it!" The world was still a jumble of pain and ringing in his ears, so Chuck wasn't sure he'd heard it the first time. He shook his head and blinked up blearily into the face of Cole Barker.

"I'm alright," Chuck said. "What the hell happened? How aren't we dead?"

"We weren't the objective," Cole said. "I was pinned down and the flashbang took you down," he went on. "If Nathan had been hunkered down with either of us, it might've gone different. Can you stand?"

"I think so," Chuck said, taking a hand up from Barker. "Where's Kevin—" Chuck started to ask, but his look around the interior of the restaurant showed him Lieutenant Awesome coming through the door, a submachinegun up on his shoulder.

"We're clear here," Barker said. Kevin turned on his heel and ducked back out. Chuck shook his head again. He was still a little fuzzy, but the ringing in his ears was fading. He raked his fingers through his hair and realized his earpiece had fallen out. It wasn't the tiny earbuds they sometimes used, but a wired set that went down to a portable radio at his belt. At the moment, the difference worked in his favor, since the earpiece had only fallen down on his shoulder. He fit the earphone back into place.

"Team One is alive but incapacitated," someone was saying. "Any word on team two?"

A female voice, Liz Reardon, replied. "Two dead, the rest wounded to some extent or another. We need emergency medical here now!"

"Six, acknowledged. Anyone up to a ground pursuit? We can't keep visual on the subject vehicle forever. They know we're up here."

Cole glanced at Chuck. "How would you feel about a touch of a car chase, Agent Barton?"

Chuck groaned.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: so, depending on how fast I bounce back from this flu (or whatever it is, but it's probably the flu), I might not be able to get the next chapter out Friday.

Reviews are not as effective as TheraFlu, but they help.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: So... I now realize that this is two chapters in a row with no Sarah. 0_0

I'll try not to let that happen again.

* * *

><p>Chapter 9: One Little Victory<p>

Chuck jammed his elbow into the window of a parked car, shattering the glass and damaging his elbow. He clutched his bruised funny-bone and popped the lock, swung the door open and sat down, readying himself for the flash that would help him hotwire their new ride. He blinked, and felt around under the dash for the missing steering wheel. A moment later, Cole got the other door open and sat down behind the wheel. Which was on the wrong, right-hand, side of the vehicle, Chuck saw at last.

"You forget where you were?" Cole said. "Probably best if I drive anyway. You Americans and your backwards roads."

Chuck shook his head. "Why can't we take the van again?"

"This is more a surveillance than a pursuit, Chuck," Cole explained, pulling out and heading south after the kidnappers' van. "They'd make us in a second we brought the van. We've got to take this slow and careful, no sudden moves if we can avoid it."

"Good point," Chuck glanced around the interior of the car. "I understand being unobtrusive. But still, a Mini?"

"Size isn't everything," Cole said, shifting lanes. "It's how you use it."

AChuck rolled his eyes. He deserved that for giving the man such a good straight-line.

Major Reardon gave them directions from up in the helicopter, heading generally south and west toward the Thames, through back streets and sometimes larger thoroughfares. Chuck and Cole seldom had visual on the van for very long, to do so might tip off those they were pursuing. Chuck's phone was working, he had a GPS map of London, but even then he was hardpressed to keep track of where they were. Cole seemed to have no such trouble, thankfully. They kept in touch with Kevin and Liz Reardon, their MI-5 contact, who was splitting her time on her phone between Chuck and Cole and the special section of the London Police, who would be responding once there was a location to respond to. Getting them additional vehicles for the pursuit was a lengthy process, and progress didn't seem likely before the chase was over. They would have to be unmarked cars, and such units were at a premium in any major metropolitan city, London was no different. Involving the police seemed bizarre to Chuck, given the way Team Bartowski had always operated in the past.

It was nearly half an hour of this oddly slow pursuit before Reardon cursed over the radio. "Bloody damn, they've gone into a road tunnel," he said. "I don't know where the thing comes out."

Chuck flicked through pages on his iPhone. "Looks like nearly a half a mile north east, they're doubling back. Let me just..." he tapped the screen. "GPS coordinates for the other end of the tunnel coming at you..." he read them off and got an acknowledgement.

Cole had to change lanes at the last instant to get the Mini headed down the street that held the tunnel entrance. "What happened to slow and low profile?"

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Cole said, putting the accelerator to the floor. It didn't make all that much difference, save the sounds of the tiny engine laboring. And even then, traffic became a problem after only a hundred yards, and Cole pulled off the side, using their stolen cars small size to drive along the shoulder. Another quarter of a mile found the van, abandoned in the middle of the tunnel, all of its doors flung open. Drivers were honking and pointing, though no one had yet approached the stranded vehicle.

"Son of a bitch," Chuck kicked his door open and headed over at a jog, Cole just a couple steps behind him. He glanced in the van just to make sure. It was deserted, save for a dead body. He expected that they'd killed the Ring Elder, Nathaniel, but it wasn't him. This was a younger fellow, about Chuck's age, early thirties, and except for the bullet hole just below his right cheekbone, he could have been sleeping.

"They must have changed vehicles," Cole said. "They're gone."

Chuck couldn't look away from the dead man. His feet seemed rooted to the roadway, his stomach trying to rebel. The flash hit him and he shuddered, finally managing to step away, but the sudden urge to vomit overwhelming him. Cole steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You alright? That's not your first dead body is it?"

Chuck wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. "No. No, it's not. I flashed," he said. "That was not a very nice man."

"You know who he is?"

"Mercenary," Chuck said. "Known for expertise with small arms, and a penchant for torture. The pictures of his victims in the files were... pretty bad."

"Lord," Cole said. "You see that kind of thing whenever you flash?"

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Depends who was encoding the files that day. One of the techs had a morbid fascination with autopsy photos. My 'lucky' day, I guess." He shrugged. He was mostly used to it by now.

"Got a name for him? Known associates?" Cole said. "Might help us track them down..." he trailed off, when he noticed Chuck's eyes widening.

"That's them," he said. "Blue 't know the make, looks kind of like a Honda. Just over your right shoulder."

Cole froze. "Have they spotted us yet?"

"I think so," Chuck said. "I'm trying not to look straight at them."

"Okay, keep the frustrated expression on your face. Just like that," Cole said. "Let them go past," he keyed his radio. "They've changed vehicles, now in a Blue sedan, Reardon, should be coming back out the way we came. Vehicle Registry LN60-SMR. Acknowledge."

There was no response. "Reardon, acknowledge." Still nothing.

Chuck frowned. That was a first in his memory, the Major failing to respond in some way. He dug his phone out and glanced at the display. "No signal," he said. "Could it be the tunnel, stopping our signal?"

"I don't know, maybe."

One of the other drivers had approached. "You chaps know what's going on? I've tried to phone the police and I haven't got signal. It's very odd."

"Do you come through this tunnel often?"

"On my way home from work, every day," the man said. "I was talking to my wife when the traffic backed up, and we were cut off. Now I can't get anyone."

"It's not the tunnel. It's a jammer."

"What?" the civilian driver said, astonished.

"MI-5," Cole said. "We need your car."

* * *

><p>"Um, aren't you SIS?" Chuck said once they'd driven off in the man's old puke-green Peugeot. At least there was more leg room than there'd been in the Mini. A little at any rate.<p>

"We don't like to advertise, and you and I are working with an agent of MI-5," Cole said, "It's close enough."

"What kind of jammer could they be using?" Chuck changed the subject as they came out of the tunnel. "To knock out our radios and the phones. Aren't the radios encrypted?"

"I don't know, but I'm guessing it isn't portable," he said. "They must be going to ground somewhere nearby. If the range is much more than the length of the tunnel, it'd have to have an aerial. Thing must be bloody huge."

He kept trying to reach someone over the radio, anyone, and Chuck kept looking for signal on his phone. Cole claimed to have seen the car they were ostensibly following, and made several turns. Chuck nearly strained his eyes looking, but didn't see them.

Even the car radio was offline. He could see people on the street glaring at their cellphone and raising them to the sky, searching in vain for better signal. Chuck shook his head. "We should just drive, get out of range of the jammer and call in, then let Reardon try to find them again with the chopper."

"There," Cole pointed at a parked car. "That's them."

"Are you sure?"

Cole eased the sedan into a parking space up the block. It was an industrial district they found themselves in, "Registry number's the same. They must be hiding in one of these warehouses or old factories."

"Great," Chuck said. "As if my day wasn't spooky enough. Abandonded factories. Just perfect."

Cole glanced at him. "You can take the car and go radio in if you like," he said. "I'll go set up reconnaissance."

The implication was that Chuck wasn't up to infiltrating the warehouse, and he bristled. "I can handle this."

"Somebody needs to send word."

"You might need backup," Chuck said. "And for all we know they've knocked out the radios in all of London."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" Chuck said. "We're at least two miles from the tunnel, and we still don't have signal. By the time I get out of range of the jamming signal and back with the cavalry it'll be too late. And I know you, without somebody with you, you'll go in half-cocked and get yourself shot."

Cole grimaced. "Fine, but bloody keep your head down. You die on my watch, and Walker will kill me. Literally."

Chuck's grin faltered after a moment. His own reception might not be all that warm, given the amount of danger he'd put himself in already. It might be safer to stay with the car.

They walked straight up to the blue sedan as if it was the most natural thing ever. Cole admonished him not to look so shifty, and Chuck tried not to hunch his shoulders so much. The kidnappers' second getaway vehicle was empty and there was no immediate sign of where the occupants could have gone.

Cole scanned the surrounding buildings and Chuck mimicked him. "You notice none of these places seem to have seen much use lately?"

"Yeah, except for that one," Cole said, pointing. "It's got it's own gravel car park, but they wouldn't want to park there right now."

"But, it looks like tire tracks in the gravel."

"When they did their recon earlier."

Gravel crunched under their feet, and Chuck tensed with every sound. Once they reached the warehouse wall, Cole crouched down next to a narrow window and removed a tiny periscope from his coat pocket.

"Really?" Chuck whispered. "You guys get the best toys."

"Shh."

Chuck heard it too a second later, boots on gravel. "Crap," he hissed.

"Shh!" Cole grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him off behind a nearby shed. Cole used his little periscope now to see who had been coming up behind them. Chuck was doubly thankful now that whoever had built this factory, or warehouse, had been too cheap to go for the concrete pour on the parking lot.

The crunching on the gravel stopped, and Cole held up two fingers, which Chuck took to mean two men. Cole pushed him back further.

Both of them went around the shed. "What-?" Chuck started, but Cole cut him off with the universal signal for quiet. He held up two fingers again, before going into hand-signals that Chuck vaguely recalled Casey using, but with a slightly different cast. British special forces probably had different versions- he winced and images whipped through his mind, the skill flash giving him almost an entire other language. He remembered a similar flash on the mission to Afghanistan where he'd met Kevin the first time. But it seemed the British version was a little more involved.

Cole was still signalling, and Chuck watched the mans fingers. _Could you repeat that? _Chuck signalled. Cole raised an eyebrow, but nodded, fingers flashing.

_Patrol, two armed men. Take a look, but stay cool. _Cole held out the little perisicope gadget, and they shuffled positions carefully so Chuck was at the edge of the shed.

He fit his eye to the little widget and peered around. Two men in black tactical gear, wearing assault rifles slung over their shoulders. These guys obviously hadn't been at the meeting-turned-horrible-bloodbath-explosion-fest, or things wouldn't have turned out as well as they had. Chuck shook his head and handed Cole back the periscope.

They were obviously sentries, and this was the Kidnappers base of operations, at least for a little while longer. They'd be moving out soon. Cole motioned for Chuck to get back, and they awkwardly switched places again.

After another tense minute of Cole peering around the corner, he nodded.

"Okay," he said softly. "We're in a bit of a pickle."

"They've got a standing patrol set up," Chuck said. "Chances we sneak in aren't so hot, are they? They'll be reporting in every so often, won't they? Oh, what about the jammer?"

Cole shook his head. "More than likely they've got a keyhole frequency that isn't being jammed. Never assume the enemy is dumber than you are. And I'd have them use a code word when they radio in, if we're going to take down any sentries and get inside, we need to get close enough to overhear it."

"I'm thinking maybe we just cut our losses at this point?" Chuck said. "We're not going to be able to mount a rescue mission anyway, right?"

"What rescue mission?" Cole said. He looked genuinely puzzled. "This is intelligence gathering only. I'm not risking my life any more than I have to. We wait and we watch, get as many pictures of faces as we can. Let the SAS track them down and jump on the bastards later. Make no mistake they'll do it. Both boots. SAS are nothing if not poor losers, Chuck."

"What about Barnard?"

"You do realize the man probably ordered you killed on sight at least once? Why do you care?"

Chuck froze for a moment. He'd just made the leap in his head, before they'd even left the scene of the short, sudden gun battle, that this was a rescue mission. He'd never taken the time to think of it in any other way. But now he was forced to look at the situation. Why did he care? By all rights, _shouldn't _he be drowning in a sea of apathy for this man?

He shook his head. "He can still tell us something more. Something important." It was a rationalization.

Cole grimaced, ejected the magazine from his pistol and glanced at it, where there were holes drilled in the back to tell how many rounds remained. "Nine left," he said. "I saw at least that many inside. Plus at least two more patrols, most likely. We're good, Charles. But we're not _that _good."

"I thought you took out twelve guys that one time?"

"You do realize I nearly died then, don't you?"

And he didn't have Chuck Bartowski holding him back either? He didn't say it, or even suggest it. That was all Chuck's own subconscious talking. "I can handle myself," Chuck said.

Cole shrugged. "Never said you couldn't. But you're the one supposed to stop me from doing anything stupid, yeah? Not the other way around? Come on," he pointed to a ladder along the side of the warehouse. "Skylight's our best bet."

"You don't think they're smart enough to have somebody up on the roof?"

Cole was busy fishing something out of his pocket. "Of course they do," Cole said. Chuck saw what it was finally as Barker began threading the silencer onto the muzzle of his pistol. "Of course they do."

The ladder was rusty and creaked under their feet. Chuck could feel himself growing more and more tense with every rung. He should have stayed in the car. If by some miracle he walked out of this unharmed, he'd still have Sarah to deal with. Cole stopped just shy of the top of the ladder, poking the little periscope over the lip of concrete and scanning the roof.

"He's at the far side of the roof, looking down," Cole whispered down to him. "There's a row of HVAC units to our right coming up, and some brickwork- must be a chimney of some kind. We'll need to use those for cover."

Chuck glanced down and his heart tried to jump up in his throat. "Patrol coming, we need to move." This was so stupid.

"Stay low," Cole nodded and hauled himself up onto the roof, and Chuck came after him as quickly and as quietly as he could. There was more gravel on the roof, of course, and they had to half-waddle, half-crawl to keep the noise down from their footfalls. Even then, Chuck half expected the roof-sentry to whirl around and shoulder his rifle.

Somehow they made it to cover, squatting behind a huge air-conditioning unit. Cole used his little periscope to keep tabs on the roof sentry. He really needed to make sure he got S&T to make him one of those.

"You think the patrol downstairs saw us?"

Cole tapped his earpiece and pointed around the corner, indicating the roof sentry. "We'll know in a minute if they try to radio him." He still had his face pressed to the periscope lens. Seconds that seemed like hours passed. "Doesn't look like they saw us."

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief. "Now what?"

"Now we wait for him to report 'allswell' and then we take him out. Keep your ears peeled for the code word."

Chuck grimaced. There really didn't seem to be a way around killing the man. CIA hadn't issued him or Kevin weapons, that's what happened when you cooperated with another agency, they wanted to be good hosts, so no, of course they couldn't issue them weapons. Chuck had asked after a tranq-gun back at Hereford and had only gotten puzzled frowns. Cole outlined the plan for the takedown, and Chuck swallowed nervously. It would work, he had no doubt. That was part of the problem.

Still, they got into position and waited. It was only a few minutes before the roof sentry put his hand to his earpiece. "All clear topside," the man said. No discernable accent as far as Chuck heard, which made the man an American, most likely. He grit his teeth. Would he have felt better if the man had been some flavor of European? No, probably not. "Roger, Marigold."

They'd supposed correctly. That had been a codeword. _Marigold. _Chuck commit the word to memory and tensed, waiting for Cole to make his move.

Gravel crunched at the far end of the roof, and the sentry spun, rifle coming up. "Who goes there? Who's up here? Newstead is that you?" There was no answer, and the sentry moved in the direction of the sound. Chuck crawled around the far side of another in the row of A/C units, behind the man. He stretched out his hand and snapped his fingers twice.

The sentry whirled at the sound, trying to locate the cause of the noise, just as Cole popped out of cover and shot him in the head from a dozen yards. Chuck scrambled to his feet and caught the dead man so the sound of his body hitting the roof wouldn't alert anyone inside. He had to fight back the urge to vomit again as he struggled with the man's-literally-dead weight. Cole was there a moment later, helping him ease the body to the roof's gravel-coated surface. There was blood everywhere, and white dust from the gravel coating Chuck's arms and his hands, mixing with the blood and turning to thick paste.

Cole slapped him gently across the cheek. "Hey. You stay with me. Up close and personal is never fun. He'd of killed the pair of us without a second thought we gave him the chance, alright? Remember that."

Chuck nodded and stood back, wiping his hands on his slacks and watching as Cole removed the man's rifle and radio. He flipped his pistol butt first and handed it to Chuck. After a moment, Chuck took it, and checked the chamber and safety automatically, before pointing the barrel in a safe direction. Sarah had drilled gun-safety into him during their time in Clarkdale. Cole nodded approvingly, filing the little tidbit away.

There was, thankfully, a skylight. They hadn't been able to see that from their cover positions, and Chuck didn't know what he would have felt, if they'd snuck up here and killed the roof sentry only to find there was no point in any of it.

Cole checked for alarm wires and started to ease the skylight open to see what they could overhear, but Chuck stopped him. He dug out his phone and looked for a relatively new app he'd discovered back at S&T.

Cole eyed him sceptically, and Chuck shrugged, scanning the window with his phone. "Scanning for infra-red beams. You said, act like they're as smart as I am. I'd have laser trip-wires."

Cole raised an eyebrow and let Chuck finish his scan. "Anything?"

"No, we're good."

Chuck glanced at his watch. Seven forty five. Ten minutes since they'd lost radio contact. Was that _all_? How fast would London police and Liz and Major Reardon figure out the radius of the jamming beacon; how long to deduce the central point and send in the cavalry. Probably more than ten minutes. Another thought. How long before they managed to counter the jammer? Probably another ten minutes before the rooftop sentry was supposed to check back in.

Cole was using his cell-phone camera to take pictures. Chuck crowded in next to him. "You recognize anybody?"

"I don't have a bloody database in my head," Cole said. "No, I don't recognize anybody."

The place was bathed mostly in shadow, making it difficult to make out the people moving around inside and nearly impossible to see their faces well enough to spur a flash. The only thing that he could see right away was the huge jamming device. It was rather conspicuous, a large squat metal box with a laptop plugged into the control panel on the side, with a ten foot upright holding a two-foot antenna dish. There were metal support struts holding the whole assembly steady.

"Well, then-" Chuck started.

"Shh- I hear something."The acoustics in the warehouse-or factory, they still didn't know for certain-were horrible, but the did serve to amplify voices inside. Chuck worried suddenly that their footsteps had been booming thumps to anyone inside the warehouse. Or factory.

It was a woman's voice, speaking conversationally, surprisingly civil. "-did you tell them?"

"What do you want me to say?" Chuck recognized the second voice as Nathaniel Barnard, their rogue Ring Elder and briefly their potential informant. He was sitting, tied to a chair in one of the few pools of light. The windows were painted in, and the lights were spotty. "I lie, you torture the truth out of me. I tell the truth, you torture me anyway."

"I'm sure we can dispense with the torture if you make me believe you," the woman said. Another American, though he didn't recognize it otherwise.

"I didn't have time to tell them much that they didn't already know," Nathan said. "Volkoff's involvement, they already knew. Suspected at least."

"Well, that's something at least. Marco, finish up here, would you?" the woman said. She remained in shadows, nameless and faceless, "Then meet me at the boats. Vlad, call in the sentries."

"Boats?" Chuck whispered. Cole stood and headed to the far side, where the sentry had stood earlier.

"There's a canal back here," he said. "Links up to the bloody Thames. From there, they could go anywhere."

"We need to get back on the radio to Reardon," Chuck said.

"You want to take out the jammer? With what?"

Chuck produced the pistol Cole had lent him, and flicked off the safety.

A gunshot cracked the stillness of the evening. Marco, whoever he was, 'finishing up.' He hadn't bothered with a silencer. The mission was now definitely a failure. Nathan was dead. Chuck cringed at the thought. That had been his first reaction; the mission not the man. He tried to move past it. Police would respond to the sound of that gunshot, wouldn't they? No, people would have to call it in on their cell phones, wouldn't they, and the jamming was still in effect. His iPhone confirmed that much.

Chuck looked at Cole. "If we're going to get Reardon back here with the chopper in time we've got to take down that jammer, right now."

"Even if you use the pistol, silencer or no, they'll notice when the bullets start hitting the bloody thing," Cole said. "We'll be sitting ducks up here."

"You get any pictures we can use to ID them?"

Cole shook his head. "A lot of shadows down there, maybe one or two, after they go through processing. Maybe. Did you flash on anyone?"

"No."

"I'll have your word, if we live through this," Cole said. "You keep Walker from killing me."

"Done," Chuck said. They shook on it, and Cole went back over to the dead sentry, retrieving all of the man's spare magazines for the assault rifle. There were several, thankfully. A couple hundred rounds. Cole could keep up suppressive fire for a while, hopefully long enough for Reardon and the helicopter to arrive and drop them some backup, assuming it was still anywhere nearby. That was a new and horrible thought; what if they'd had mechanical trouble? What if they'd had to land? Without radio contact with air traffic control was it even safe to fly around the skies of London? Chuck squeezed those thoughts down into a little ball in the back of his head and exchanged a glance with Cole.

"Don't worry," Cole said. "I'm sure you can hit the thing, it's the size of a bloody lorry."

"The word you're looking for is, 'truck,' limey."

"Tomato tomahto, yank. Good luck."

Chuck squinted down the sights of his borrowed pistol, lining them up on the dish. He had eight shots now, since Cole had spent one on the rooftop sentry, and he squeezed off four into the dish. Took a breath as he shifted aim and let it halfway out. He emptied the mag into the control-laptop. Someone shouted the alarm down below, and Cole hauled him away from the skylight. A moment later it was shattered by return gunfire.

"Nice shooting, Bartowski," Cole said. "You sure you're from California?"

Chuck managed a wan smile and glanced at his phone. Three bars. He keyed his radio. "Barton for Major Reardon."

"Where the bloody hell have you been!"

"Nice to hear from you too," Chuck said. "We've got a situation."

"Was that gunfire?"

"Uh, we found them," Chuck said. His phone's GPS app was working again. "Warehouse or something on the south side of that tunnel they tried to lose us in," Chuck read off the coordinates.

"They doubled back," Reardon said. "Damn, we're five miles off."

"We're going to need some fire support when you get here."

"Three minutes, Barton," Reardon said. "You hold on for three minutes and we'll get you out of this."

"They'll be trying to flee by boats onto the river," Chuck said. "We'll be the guys on the roof fighting for their lives.

"You let us worry about the river," Reardon said.

"Here," Cole shoved a new pistol Chuck's way, along with a couple of spare magazines.

"How did-? Do you always carry extra?"

"Sentry had a sidearm."

Of course. That made more sense; Chuck had had the beginnings of a brief flight of fancy about Cole being the spare guns fairy. He shook off the image and made sure there was a round in the chamber of his newly acquired firearm.

"There are only two ways up," Cole said. "The ladder we used, and that hatch over there. Divide and conquer. You find cover and take the ladder."

Chuck nodded numbly, tucking the spare magazines for the pistol into his left-hand coat pocket.

Gunfire continued to come up through the skylight and the surrounding bits of the roof, for a little while. Then it stopped.

"They're running for the boats," Cole called. "Cover my sector."

He scrambled across the roof and skidded to a knee, taking up a firing stance against the lip of the roof. His rifle barked in the automatic fire setting. Chuck could feel his hands trying to shake, but when he looked down the sights of his weapon, they were steady, somehow.

He switched his point of aim from the ladder to the hatch Cole had pointed out and back. Time became fluid. He didn't know how long that went on, Cole's rifle barking from behind him. Now return fire. Chuck glanced back toward Cole; the other agent was lying prone while he worked to reload.

"I'm still here," Cole said. "Watch your end. I'll give a shout if I'm hit."

Chuck's thoughts were turning dark. Cole would give a shout if he was hit, unless the bullet killed him instantly. Still, he went back to his study of the two entry points to the roof.

The hatch swung upward and Chuck barely saw it from the corner of his eye. He spun and loosed two rounds. The first hit the roof, he'd slapped the trigger to hard again, and the second clanged against the metal hatch over the intruder's head. But that was enough; the man let out a curse and dropped back down. Chuck heard a thump and a shout, cut off suddenly. He'd fallen from the stairwell, or ladder that led to the hatchway. His heart was pounding in his ears.

Chuck caught movement in the corner of his eye again; they must have been coordinating the assault. He turned back and looked down the barrel of a leveled assault rifle for the merest fraction of a second, before the head behind the weapon disappeared in a puff of mist. It was a second before he heard the report of that gunshot, and only then did he hear the whup-whup of the helicopter rotor.

"Longest three minutes of my life, Reardon," Chuck said into the radio.

"Two and a half," Reardon said. "Caught a tail-wind."

The helicopter loitered over the warehouse long enough two men to fast-rope down. Kevin, and -Chuck blinked to see it-Lancaster, the squad leader for Team One, came over and hunkered in cover with him. They each took up station over one of the possible entry points to the roof.

"How?"

"Reardon came back for us when they lost contact with you," Kevin said. "They'd have had to shoot him to keep him from coming along," he flicked a thumb at his companion. The man's head was bandaged.

"So who do I thank for saving my life?"

Kevin grinned and pointed up. Major Reardon waved down from the helicopter, around the sniper rifle in his hands.

Chuck threw him a very messy salute.

Reardon and the helicopter then swept out toward the river, trying to catch up to the fleeing boats.

After another few seconds, Cole came over, running in a crouch. "I don't have a perfect count, but I think we're around eighteen on the ground here. Maybe a dozen got away in the boats. Plus the two I took down trying to make the run, where does that put us."

"The roof sentry and the one Reardon took down from the helicopter make sixteen," Lancaster said.

"I spooked one and he fell down the ladder." Chuck said. "He's wounded but maybe not dead." Probably wishful thinking on his part, Chuck mused. Then he jumped when Kevin rippled off a quick burst from his smg.

"Eighteen."

They could hear sirens in the distance now, London police response time was pretty good, especially after their communications had been disrupted. Chuck looked at his watch and marveled at the fact that it had all happened in the space of a single hour.

* * *

><p>It turned out that Cole's count had been low, there were another pair of gunmen still holed up in the warehouse-London police arriving on the scene finally confirmed that-but they had surrendered when it quickly became obvious that the situation was hopeless. The man who had fallen down the ladder was still alive, though the paramedics had said he was 'seriously ill.' Chuck chalked that up to cultural differences and assumed they meant serious condition. Not critical, the euphism the American medical community used for 'probably gonna die.' Serious condition meant 'probably not going to die, but still bad off.' It was something at least, knowing he probably didn't have another death directly at his hands.<p>

The mission was still a shambles, though. Reardon had followed the boats out onto the Thames, until they'd run into a cargo ship and capsized. Divers were searching for survivors now, but Chuck ground his teeth. The helicopter's FLIR hadn't been able to pick out individual heat signatures. Something about the heat from the boats' engines and wind conditions over the river. They'd escaped. No one would say it yet, but Chuck knew it. He walked off and sat with his head in his hands on the curb near their borrowed puke-green sedan. Kevin showed up after a while, sans-smg, and sat beside him. "Cheer up," he said. "You're alive, aren't you?"

"Yes," Chuck said. Kevin laughed.

"It was rhetorical."

"Where's your gun?" Chuck said. The empty holster on Kevin's left hip was freaking him out, "You look weird without it."

"It's evidence," Kevin shrugged, "They didn't take this, though."

He produced a smartphone from his coat pocket. "What is-"

"Property of Nathaniel Barnard," Kevin read from a small engraving on the back. "He dropped his Blackberry when they grabbed him; I found it in the street before the chopper came back for us. So it's not a total washout."

Chuck shook his head. How many people dead? Nearly a washout. He shivered, and hoped he'd never become that jaded about killing.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Glad to report I'm on the mend. Take that, flu virus! If this chapter doesn't make sense, you can blame my flu meds. Thanks for all the reviews to this point. I know I sound like a broken record, but I really appreciate all the feedback I can get. Good bad or indifferent. Well, I don't know, indifferent I could take or leave.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N:The Awesome awards voting is still ongoing, I believe. Shameless self-promotion time. I'm up for several of them, and I've yet to win one. So, if you do stop by the forums and vote, think of me.

Sorry for the delay, but this chapter wasn't cooperationing. Yes, that's a word now, I made it up. This chapter is a little schizophrenic, just due to the length of time that it covers, so please pay attention to the dates.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10: Changes<p>

Andrews AFB

September 28, 2011

2200 EST

"Hey, moron," Casey said when they deplaned. The Colonel was alone on the tarmac. Chuck winced.

"Sarah didn't come to pick me up? Is she mad?"

"That's like asking if napalm burns underwater."

"I don't understand. Is that a yes?"

Casey raised an eyebrow. "And how. She punched a wall."

"What?"

"You need me for this? I'm gonna catch a cab," Kevin said, handing over the plastic bag holding the captured PDA and walking off. Casey nodded and stuffed the bag into a pocket. Chuck waved, and Kevin rolled his eyes.

"She punched a wall?"

"Yeah, when Myers let her see the transcript of your report."

"So, is it even safe for me to go home?"

Casey just shrugged. "As safe as it ever was."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chuck stopped in his tracks in the parking lot.

"Walker ever tell you she threatened Beckman with a needlenose pliers?"

"What?"

"When they had you in the bunker."

"I don't remember her mentioning- I... She wouldn't use pliers on _me_if that's what you're implying."

Casey shrugged again. "You say so," and pulled out the key fob for the Crown Vic.

Chuck blinked. At first he'd thought it was merely a different Vic, but he could see the scratch in the door from their last misadventure in LA. "How did you get it here from LA?"

"Hired a guy I know to drive it for me."

"It's got a rocket launcher. Who did you let drive it?" Chuck said as he got in.

"Old marine buddy of mine. And the rocket launcher's got a biometric lockout."

"Well that's something."

They spent most of the car trip from Andrews in silence, until Casey stopped out front of the apartment building. "When are they going to be done with the house?" Casey said.

"We're supposed to go check it out tomorrow after work. Then we start moving in Friday if Sarah thinks its up to snuff."

"You need an extra pair of hands for that?"

"Casey are you offering to help me move?"

"That's what friends do, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Chuck said. "I never expected you to admit we were friends, though."

"You try to hug me I'll still punch you in the throat. But sure. We're friends."

Chuck nodded. "A needlenose pliers? Really?"

"Yes. Quite the girl you've got there, Bartowski. Don't do anything to piss her off more than she already is."

"I'll do my best," Chuck said.

"Good luck," Casey called as he pulled out.

Chuck squared his shoulders and marched upstairs.

"Sarah? Hon?" Chuck cracked the door and stuck his head through. The apartment was dark. He glanced at his watch. 11pm. He'd tried to sleep on the plane, but Myers' had demanded their debriefing take place as soon as possible, which meant over the secure phone unit built into the plane. It was a new model, which integrated advances in encryption technology and was supposedly completely uncrackable. Still, Chuck kept from mentioning the Intersect, and Myers refrained from using anybody's real name. There were risks, and _risks__. _Chuck sidled through the door and closed and locked it behind him.

If Lisa was still sick, he'd thought Sarah might still be up, but the apartment just felt asleep. Chuck dropped his keys on the plate by the door and took off his shoes, so his footsteps wouldn't wake either of his girls, and padded through to the bedroom.

The bedroom door was locked. Chuck rattled the handle once before he remembered he was trying to keep the noise down and froze, praying he hadn't woken Lisa. The girl could _scream_ when she wanted to.

He knocked gently. "Sarah?" No answer.

He sighed and turned, leaning his back against the doorframe and hunching his shoulders. It was a few seconds before he spotted his pillow and the folded sheet set on the end of the sofa. Hell. Chuck rapped on the door a little louder, hoping for a balance between loud enough to wake Sarah, but not wake Lisa. "Sarah, can you come open the door? Please? Are you up?"

"I'm up."

"Can we talk?"

"Go to sleep," Sarah said through the door. "You'll wake up the baby. I just finally got her down."

"Come out here and talk to me."

No answer for the longest time, then finally. "Go to sleep."

"Sarah, come on!" Chuck whispered. He thought he might have heard a muffled sob through the door, but that was all. He bonged his head on the door softly and went to go make up the couch. He couldn't get comfortable at first, and he finally had to get up and pour himself a double of Johnny Walker from Casey's 'apartment warming' gift.

"Chuck," she whispered, and he opened his eyes. Sarah was sitting on the edge of the sofa, leaning over him.

"What- it's the middle of the night. You ready to talk now?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry about before. I just—"

"You were too mad to talk. I get it."

"I wasn't mad. I was scared."

Chuck frowned. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that before."

"I'm sure you have," Sarah said. "God, I was so scared."  
>"I'm sorry I scared you," Chuck said. "Nobody expected them to be out in force like that."<p>

"I know that," Sarah shook her head. "It's not even this last mission that scared me so much. It's just... I wasn't there. It's so much worse staying home while you go on missions, not knowing until after the fact. I hate it."

"Now you know how I feel staying in the van all the time."

Sarah glared at him halfheartedly, fighting a grin. "Don't try to make this a joke."

"I wasn't—"

She put a finger to his lips. "I know, Sarah's talking now. Okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"I don't want you going out on another mission without me. We're partners. A package deal, from now on."

"What about— somebody needs to stay home with Lisa, and god forbid. What if we both..."

"Then Lisa goes and lives with aunt Ellie and uncle Devon," Sarah said. "But if we're going to come to a bad end, Chuck, it's going to be together. I don't like talking about this. I don't even like thinking about this, but having you gone, it all just came in on me at once. And then when I heard you were missing."

"I wasn't missing. I knew where I was the whole time. Mostly. London is a very confusing city."

She hit him with the baby blues, that soulful look she used to give him back in the bad old days and he nodded. He mimed locking his mouth shut.

"Kevin calls in saying they've lost contact with you but don't worry he's sure everything's fine," Sarah said, "And Lisa's screaming and my boobs feel like bricks, and ugh! I hated feeling that helpless."

"Helpless? You? You're my kickass ninja spy girl. You don't know the meaning of the word."

Sarah shrugged one shoulder. "I told you what a wreck I was when you were in the bunker, didn't I? I can't raise our daughter by myself. I just— Chuck, I can't. Don't make me try to do this without you."

"Don't cry. Sarah, please don't. We don't even know if we're going to go on more missions anyway."

She shook her head. "That's what I'm talking about. As painful as it is. We need to plan for this. We said no missions, but then it was 'oh, this is a milk run, it'll be fine,' and we both saw how that turned out. There will be another mission, and a one after that, just wait and see. Until we retire completely, there's always be 'one more mission.'"

Chuck nodded. "And if there is, we'll both go. We can get a sitter for Lisa; Myers will have a list of approved sitters. Or he can get one. I guess we can get a second fridge for out in the garage—can you freeze breast milk so we can have like a spare week's supply on hand?"

Sarah just looked at him for a long time. "I love you so much," she finally said. "Don't scare me like that again."

"I never wanted to," Chuck said.

"I know it," she said. "It's the nature of this damn business, and I know that too."

"Can I sit up? This is a little awkward talking like this."

"No," Sarah said. There were still tears on her cheek, but the side of her mouth quirked upward and she pushed him back down and pressed her lips to his.

"Ulp—" Chuck said, startled for a moment by her aggressiveness. He kissed her back after that moment of shock, but his moment of indecision had given her all the advantage she needed. Sarah pinned him to the sofa. He smiled against the onslaught and slid his hand up under her shirt.

She pulled away for a moment and grabbed his shirt. "Arms up," she said, and then all bets were off.

Chuck surged up and spun her down beside him. Sarah grinned and rubbed her fingers in his chest hair. Chuck shivered away from her fingers for a moment and she bucked back to haul her own shirt off over her head, tossing it aside and kissing him with renewed fervor.

Afterward, Sarah curled up on top of him, head resting on his shoulder. "You cold?" Chuck said, trying to flip the sheet up around her shoulders. "We should move back to the bedroom."

Sarah pushed herself up on her elbows. "Huh, no. Sorry, buster. You're still sleeping on the couch tonight."

"But we just— twice!"

"Shh!" Sarah said. But it was too late. Lisa's wail came from both the bedroom and the baby monitor Sarah had clipped to the only bit of clothing she was still wearing, her maternity bra. She sat up and began stepping into her panties.

Chuck grabbed her wrist. "I can get her," he said.

"All the bottles are dirty," Sarah said. She stood and settled the waistband on her hips. "This is a job for Super-mommy."

"Can I at least see my daughter?"

"In the morning."

"Oh, come on!"

"This is your fault for getting into trouble, don't try to blame me."

Chuck frowned at her retreating back. And then cocked his head and took the moment to ogle his wife's butt. She glanced back over her shoulder, and put a little more sway in her steps to torture him, before banging the door shut with her hip.

He let out a sigh and tried to get back to sleep on the couch.

Barely ten minutes had passed before Sarah poked her head back out and relented. "Don't get any ideas, you're still in trouble. It's just hard to sleep without my best pillow," Sarah said. "Don't smirk."

* * *

><p>CIA HQ<p>

Langley, VA

Oct 1, 2011

S&T couldn't crack the encryption on Nathaniel Barnard's PDA, at least not right away. Chuck and

Jesus talked about it over lunch, and he called Myers from his cube. Strictly speaking that was a breach of protocol, but what wasn't when he really got down to it? Even when he'd been locked up in a bunker he hadn't felt quite so hemmed in. "Chuck, you know the drill," Myers said. "You shouldn't be calling me. Unless something big came up? I'm talking 9/11 big, here, Chuck."

"Sorry, Bill,"Chuck said. "It's just that Jesus—ah, Jones and I were talking over lunch—"

"You're not supposed to be—"

"He's an old frat buddy," Chuck said. "How is that suspicious?" He glanced around and hunched over the phone, "And I think I can help crack that PDA."

"So, what are you asking me for?"

"I need a transfer to S&T."

"That'll mean upgrading your security clearance."

"Isn't that really just a technicality at this point?"

"It'd also mean a paygrade bump."

"It would? Really, I wasn't aware of that."

"Your lying needs work, Bartowski. I'll call your supervisor tomorrow morning and give him the news."

"Can you call him now? He's been kind of a pain in my butt all day."

"And you want to watch his expression. Can't you get your amusements somewhere else?"

"I could but Quantico's more than an hour by car."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you've got the right Bartwoski, Deputy Director?" Gerald said. "It's just that, he's always late, he's always getting personal calls and—"<p>

"I'm sure," Myers said. "That last report of his just crossed my desk. Dynamite stuff,and he's got history with Jones over in S&T."

"Sir," Gerald said. "About that report; something is wrong. There's no way he could have produced that many pages in the time frame I gave him."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I don't know," Gerad admitted. "Maybe it's nothing. Maybe I just miss being out in the field and I'm making up conspiracies where there are none."

"Go give Bartowski the word, then," Myers said. "Unless there's something else?"

"No sir," Gerald said. He stared at the phone for a moment after the DDO had hung up. Bartowski. The man was hiding something, and Myers was in on it too. He said it aloud in the privacy of his office. "Charles Bartowski is in a secret conspiracy with the Director of Operations." It sounded ridiculous, worse than ridiculous. He grit his teeth. He was not paranoid. "And I'm going to find out what it is."

* * *

><p>"So, what's this I hear you're leaving us, Chuck?" Anders said, rubbing his bald head.<p>

"Well," Chuck said. "I'm just going to a different part of the building..."

"No, I mean, you're getting TS clearance and everything," Anders said. "Only having Secret clearance was what bound us together as a group."

"I think you're overstating things. I mean I've only been working here for like a month."

"I'm really not, but I guess you're too big a hotshot to hang out with us here. We're like the Jerry Tubermanns of the CIA."

"Who?" Chuck said. "I don't think I know him."

"He was the creepy kid at my highschool. Hey, you've got to come out with us tonight," Anders said. "We're going out for drinks at this great CIA bar."

"Hang on. There are CIA bars? Is that like a cop bar?"

"Kind of, except the owner used to work covert ops," Anders said.

Mark, one of the other Iceland Desk analysts overhead and paused. "He's got a stuffed polar bear he shot on some mission in Russia back in the sixties," Mark said. "It's great for photo ops."

"He shot a polar bear? They're endangered," Chuck frowned. 'photo ops' with polar bears? This place sounded nuts.

"It was a different time," Clarence said. What were they all just waiting outside his cube? That was everybody now.

Chuck shrugged. "I don't know... I'd have to ask my wife..."

"Boo!" "Jeer!" "You don't actually say jeer!" "I don't want to have this argument with you again!"

"Okay, fine," Chuck said."I'll have _one_ drink."

* * *

><p>Sarah pulled the phone away from her ear, wincing. Loud music and wild shouting reached her ears even through the intervening space. She grimaced and put the phone back to her ear. "Who is this? Why do you have Chuck's phone?"<p>

"It's me!" A voice slurred, and her eyes widened as she finally recognized it.

"Where have you been. I'm at the house. Are— are you drunk?"

"Noooooooo..." Chuck said. "Maybe. A lilbit... jus a lilbit."

"I can barely hear you," Sarah raised her voice.

"Hang on. Hey everybody everybody, shh!"

"Chuck, where are you?"

"I lub you so much..." Chuck slurred. "You're sooo pretty..." Hoots and catcalls rose over the phone-line.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm going to come get you."

"It's calld... whas it called guys?" A shout from half a dozen throats, also drunk and slurring, but she puzzled it out after a moment.

"The Black Helicopter!"

Sarah sighed. "Okay, how much have you had?"

"Dunno. We've been here for 'bout a hour. Lots?"

"Chuck, don't drink any more beer."

"Excullent," Chuck said and raised his voice. "Whiskey for _everyone_!"

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Is everything alright?" Asked their contractor. "Is that your husband?"

"Yes. I know why he's late, now. He's plastered."

"But, it's... only five thirty in the afternoon."

"I know," Sarah groaned. "We're going to have to cut this short, if you don't mind."

"Sure," the man said. "Is everything looking like you expected?"

"Yes, I think the panic room turned out great," Sarah said. "And the security system is perfect. I know it was a lot of extra work for you and your guys..."

"Hey, thats why the Company pays us the big bucks."

"Really?"

"Double overtime is better than sex."

"You're doing it wrong," Sarah said confidently, and strolled over to where Lisa was sleeping in her car seat.

"Which one?" the man grinned.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Both."

* * *

><p>The Black Helicopter Bar and Grill catered to a certain kind of patron, and it wasn't a kind that Sarah was all that enamored with; the place was a kind of kitschy spy-dive bar, with just enough credibility and spy cred that a lot of the analysts flocked there. When Sarah had first started working at CIA all those years ago, she'd let herself be dragged there by her roommate from the Farm. Sarah stared at the place from the safety of the minivan, fingers drumming on the wheel. She needed to go in and get Chuck, of course, but she wasn't really thrilled with that plan, so she dug her iPhone out of her purse and dialed Chuck.<p>

It went straight to voicemail, which meant someone had probably made him turn it off. She heaved a sigh, and unhooked Lisa from the car-seat. Her three-month-old daughter fussed a little, flailing arms making it difficult to get her into the Baby-Bjorn, but Sarah cooed at her and made funny faces until Lisa seemed to tire herself out a little, and then got the straps fitted into place.

Lisa was getting bigger, and they'd have to buy a new harness at some point. Sarah shook her head. "Mental note," she said aloud.

At the door, the management had someone checking ID, and Sarah was forced to dig in her baby bag. "Seriously?" she protested, "I don't look 21 to you? I'd say thank you, but seriously?"

"Policy," the man said. His eyes darted to Sarah's chest, and for once a man wasn't ogling her boobs. "You know this isn't a family restaurant, right?" he waved vaguely, taking in Lisa with the gesture.

"Yeah," Sarah said. "I've been here before."

She moved into the bar, thankfully smoke free, in deference to city ordinances, or she'd have had to bust some heads, and found Chuck in the very back of the bar, through the secret bookcase door. The drunk pack of Intel analysts stopped their raucous conversation and stared at her.

Chuck blinked and took in the scowl on his wife's face. "Busted..." he said in what was obviously meant to be a whisper, but was closer in volume to a shout.

"Hang on..." one of the others said slowly, hiccuped and had to start over. He seemed to lose track of what he was saying for a few moments. "Hang on. Hang on... _Haaang_ on. _That__'__s _your wife?"

Chuck grinned drunkenly and tried to get up and go over to her, but he staggered and nearly fell. Sarah started to rush forward and catch him, but at the last instant he stiffened his knees and managed to stay upright. "I'm in trouble again, aren't I?"

Sarah smiled at him and shook her head. "Not with me," she said. "Your hangover will be punishment enough. Drink tons of water, it should help. A little"

* * *

><p>As promised, that particular hangover remedy only worked partially, and the next morning, as they were meeting the CIA-approved movers at the house, Chuck's head was still painful. He felt like a giant bobble-head, as if his neck was grown tiny and his head two sizes too large. When he remarked on this fact to his wife, she merely smirked and cuddled Lisa against her shoulder. "Well, what do you expect?" she said, "How many shots did you have?"<p>

"I lost count at four," Chuck said. "But that was after a few beers anyway. I broke my own rule from my frat days. 'Beer then liquor never sicker. Liquor then beer, never fear'."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You are _not_ having the drinking talk with our daughter."

Casey pulled up a little after noon, the cigar store Indian strapped to the roof of the Crown Vic.

Sarah sighed. She'd thought Morgan had been given permanent custody of that thing. Chuck and Casey had to wrestle the thing upstairs themselves, since the movers were only technically paid to move the things from the truck.

Chuck and Casey used the behemoth to shuttle boxes from the apartment, while Sarah oversaw the unloading of the moving truck with their new furniture.

"Okay," Casey said, when the movers were finished and they'd carted over the last load of boxes, making a huge mess in the living room to be sorted through. "Don't get all mushy on me now, Bartowski, but I got you two a couple of housewarming gifts."

"More whiskey?" Chuck said, none too pleased with the idea after the hangover he'd suffered through.

Casey shook his head, and lead them back out to the Crown Vic, where he popped the trunk. Chuck rolled his eyes. "Of course. You got us guns."

"Springfield M1A for Walker, since they kept your old rifle for evidence," Casey said. "And a KSG-12 for you, Bartowski. Because Every man who has a daughter should _also_ have a shotgun. To keep away undesirables."

"Which is all of them."

Casey grunted agreement, and Sarah rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>Nuevo Casa Bartowski<p>

Tyson's Corner, VA

Oct 19, 2011

Chuck's prediction of cracking the encryption on Nathaniel Barnard's PDA quickly proved overly optimistic. After two days he was frustrated. After a week he was beside himself. After almost three weeks, Sarah resorted to drastic measures. "So," she asked. "What do you think we should be for Halloween?"

"Huh?" Chuck wasn't really listening, he and Jones had a new algorithm they were working on that might get them through the first layer of the encryption. It seemed Mr. Barnard was even more paranoid than Sarah. From the best they could gather, the man had quadruple encrypted his PDA data with 1mb keys. Standard decryption would take approximately 11 years. If there was anything important on there, they needed to know right away, not in 2022. He scribbled a note and then slapped the pen between his teeth in case he needed it later, while he typed the new code.

"So, which costume do you think?" Sarah said. "I think this Shanna the She-devil one is pretty nice, if a little revealing..."

"What?" Chuck finally turned, at mention of a comic book character, and his eyes popped open wide. The pen fell out of his mouth. "What are you wearing?"

"Finally the man notices," Sarah grinned. "I guess you like the loincloth?" She did a quick pirouette.

He just gaped at her with his mouth open. "I... have... work... to..." Chuck blinked. "What's the deal with you and costumes lately?"

"Are you complaining?" Sarah said. "Halloween is coming up, and since I kind of just sprang Supergirl on you last year, I thought I'd give you the chance to have input. I've got some other ones I can try on..."

"Yeah, about that..." Chuck said. "I already got it covered."

She raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask?"

"Mr. Fantastic and the Invisible Woman."

Sarah blinked, but then grinned. "It's a little on the nose, isn't it?"

"The only thing invisible here is your top."

"And skintight blue spandex is better?"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Maybe better isn't the word. Less likely to cause a riot."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "At least you're not hunched over the computer working anymore."

"Actually, I was taking a break. I've created a photo-mockup of Lisa in her costume."

"Awwww... Lisa gets a Fantastic Four outfit?" Sarah said, peering over his shoulder.

"Of course, she's part of the family," Chuck said. "Reed and Sue Richards have _two _kids, Franklin and Valeria."

"Okay, but who's going to be the other two? The Thing and The Human Torch? Why are you grinning at me like that?"

"You used to call them 'Orange Rock Guy', and 'That Guy Who Catches on Fire.' Your nerdiness is building up nicely."

"That's why you make me come with you to the comic shop," she said, a touch accusing. "You're trying to turn me into one of you!"

"And it's working. Are you or are you not wearing a Shanna the She-devil costume completely on your own hook?"

"Give me a sec," Sarah grinned and set to work briefly. "I am not."

"Hiyo!"

* * *

><p>Chuck had begun to split his time between Quantico and Langley more equally, thanks to the leeway of reporting to his old college buddy Jesus Jones in S&amp;T as his cover. It was a simpler operation with that change, and Chuck decided it had mostly been inertia that had sent him to the Iceland desk in the first place. Sarah's idea to disguise his CIA activities as something else was still a good one, and Jones and Manoosh kept him insulated from anyone who wasn't in on Operation Flypaper, the codeword now used for all Intersect operations. As far as anyone else was concerned, Chuck and Jones were working together on a largely arcane bit of quantum computational decryption algorhythms; while it was potentially very useful, immediate results weren't expected, and so, his time was less restricted. Without Gerald's constant hovering to deal with, the entire training operation worked more smoothly. In early November, the new Intersect was completed, so, with the computer doing a large portion of the Intel sifting Chuck had been forced to do before, they decided to test the new removal procedure, wiping the Intersect from Chuck's head completely. For those couple of days, with the skillset removed as well, Chuck foundered briefly, like a child with the training wheels off his bicycle, but he had a new sense of determination and he rebounded quickly. He threw himself into both his jobs, defeating the first layer of Barnard's encryption scheme and inching down his time on the runs he went with the recruits. He outpaced all but Kevin, whose Awesome running skills were likely genetic. He improved his shooting skills without the Intersect as well, again easily outstripping the recruits save Kevin. Sarah and Casey both managed to out-shoot Kevin with pistols, and Casey could do it with a rifle; Sarah was even with both out to six hundred yards, but beyond that they were the better marskmen. It wasn't by much, of course; at that level of skill, it was a matter of who had had the better night's sleep, or accidentally stubbed their toe coming out of the shower that morning, or a stray gust of wind, that decided matters on the range.<p>

Chuck's self-imposed training regimen included self-defense, but sparring with Sarah, even Intersect-free, proved to be ill-advised. He could fend her off most of the time, and hold his own at least some of the time, though he couldn't bring himself to strike her. As Sarah had predicted back in Clarkdale months before, their 'sparring' generally became sensually charged, and rather than risk being caught in one of the maintenance closets a second time, (Kevin had suggested they hang a tie on the doorknob next time) they turned him over to Casey for that part of training.

After the week Intersect-free, Manoosh and the guys ironed out the last kinks and shoved the whole mess back into Chuck's skull. It was a strange occasion; Chuck had some misgivings about re-Intersecting himself, but he still had his own copy of Orion's removal procedure. He'd locked it away in a safety deposit box under one of the aliases Sarah had established for their escape from Burbank the year before. He was fairly certain that nobody had ever tumbled to his Elvis Markham identity.

This upload was different, not in any changes to the Intersect's data or skillset, it was pretty routine for Chuck, similar to the refreshers he'd gone through before. The difference lay in the fact that there was a team watching the readout of the FMRI they took of his brain during the upload, to determine a baseline for the others. The idea was that before they tried to upload the full package into anyone else, they would go over that data, attempting to discern the necessary limitations to put on the uploads for the recruits.

It was decided that Laura would recieve the same upload as Chuck, while the others would all have some parts of the package omitted. Kevin's Delta Force experience duplicated a fair number of the skills anyway, and from a safety perspective, he was the most likely to suffer some damage since he had the lowest score on the aptitude test, so his upload wasn't to include the entire database either. His time in training, Myers and Beckman decided, was something of a waste of time, and so when Kevin volunteered to be the first guinea pig, the week before Thanksgiving, they obliged him. Kevin recieved the second upload.

He was unconscious for nearly forty-eight hours, but seemed to be his old self after he awoke, ravenous despite the IV nutrients they'd been feeding him. Chuck kidded Kevin about the battery of tests they would now put him through, glad that someone else would now be under the same scrutiny. Even when the tests on Kevin came back clean, and the other three recruits' Intersect packages were ready for upload, Casey was adamant that Laura and Jarod and Danny weren't ready yet, and so, they held off on more uploads until Drill Instructor Casey was satisfied. Which probably wouldn't be for another couple of years, Casey was fond of saying in earshot of the recruits. As a motivational tactic, he said. Chuck wondered if Casey had the right definition of 'motivation'.

* * *

><p>Nuevo Casa Bartowski<p>

November 22, 2011

The doorbell rang, and Chuck was busy coding—he and Jones still hadn't beaten the next generation encryption on Barnard's PDA; it had four layers, and so far they'd only cracked two— so Sarah answered the door, Lisa on her hip and her hair unwashed, wearing a wrinkled pair of sweats and an old t-shirt with a baby-puke stain above the words 'Frak Off.' They'd given the recruits a whole three days off for the Thanksgiving holiday, and Sarah had been taking advantage of her time free of training responsibilities to laze around and play with her four-month old baby girl. Almost five months now, actually. Sarah was quite proud of her little bundle of joy; Lisa was a developmental wonder, according to the online guides Sarah was consulting. She was already trying, albeit unsuccessfully so far, to roll over, which some babies couldn't do until six or seven months. Sarah was beginning to be convinced her child would be a prodigy, although some of that was just wishful parenting, she knew. She blinked, and cringed inwardly when she took in the identity of their guests on the camera that overlooked the front door. Ellie and Devon were a day early, and she was a mess.

How they'd managed to finagle the extra time off from the hospital, Sarah had no idea, and she wasn't in a hurry to find out. There had likely been blood sacrifice involved, or at least some massive amount of bribery.

The door swung open and Sarah braced herself for Hurricane Ellie. It didn't happen immediately. There was a moment of shock first, Ellie taking in the whole momly picture of Sarah and seeming to wince slightly, before she spotted Lisa and her eyes widened. "Did you steal a second baby?"

"What no," Sarah said. "What are you talking about?"

"She's so fat!"

Sarah glared for a moment. "She's in the seventieth percentile for weight _and_height and she's perfectly fine."

"I just— I din't mean fat in a bad way, I'm sorry, Sarah," Ellie said. "I'm just a little frazzled— from the flight and everything. She's grown, that's all."

"Babies will tend to do that, Babe," Devon said. "Where's Chuck?"

"Upstairs working," Sarah shrugged. "Come on in you guys. I can't believe I'm leaving you standing in the doorway, come in!" Now Hurricane Ellie descended, clapping Sarah in a patended strangle-hug, though she kept it brief in deference to Lisa's relative squashability.

"Can I hold her?" Ellie said.

Sarah grimaced. "Maybe not the best idea right now, Ellie," she said. "Lisa's been getting kind of weird lately. She screams every time I try to leave the room."

"Awww," Ellie said.

"Believe me, it gets old after a while. Although maybe you can distract her," Sarah held Lisa out to Ellie, but the baby girl clutched a handful of Sarah's shirt and began wailing immediately, refusing to be detached from her mother. Sarah let out a sigh and let Lisa go back to her spot in the crook of her mother's arm. She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "See what I mean?" Lisa began her second or third favorite activity, saying blah-blah-blah-blah, over and over. Sarah grinned down at her and mimicked her for a few seconds. Ellie grinned.

"So, what's the Chuckster working on?" Devon said.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, Devon. Classified."

Ellie shook her head. "My brother the spy," she said, frowning.  
>"He's in S&amp;T," Sarah said. "Not a spy."<p>

"Do what? What's that?" Ellie said.

"He transferred to Science & Technology," Sarah explained. "Kind of like the Nerd Herd, but with way better gadgets. Still, he can't tell you about it."

"What about you?" Ellie said. "I mean, I never thought you'd go full-time mommy like this. Don't you miss it?"

Sarah hid her surprise. "Am I that obvious?" she said, remembering at once and hating the subterfuge. Ellie and Devon still thought, along with Morgan, that Sarah had retired and Chuck was 'merely' an analyst. "I've been thinking about a spot as a training officer at the Farm." Like all good lies, there was a grain of truth to that.

"Can you tell me that?" Ellie said. "I mean..."

"It's a gray area," Sarah said, and then had to fend off Lisa's wandering hand. The littlest Bartowski had only recently discovered the joys of pulling on her mommy's hair, (which meant no more dangly earrings) and Sarah had to peel Lisa away like some kind of pudgy barnacle, which nearly brought on a new wave of wails, before Sarah brought the infant back close to her.

Ellie was fighting a grin and losing horribly at this point. Devon wasn't much better. "The house is great, Sarah. Do we get a tour?"

"Chuck will want to help with that," Sarah said. "Even though I didn't think you were getting in until Wednesday."

Once they'd torn Chuck away from his work, they started the tour upstairs. The guest bedroom and what was basically Chuck's man-cave (but was another bedroom according to the plans) shared a bathroom, with a loft area overlooking the front stairs. Downstairs there was the master bedroom and bath, with the nursery set up in the front bedroom, just off the entry hall. Ellie started talking with Sarah about the shade of paint in the master bath, and Chuck and Devon slipped off to grab a beer.

Devon was suitably impressed with Chuck's setup in the garage; they'd finally gotten most of the stuff with sentimental value shipped from the CIA warehouse it had gone to after the house in Clarkdale had eaten a helicopter. But there were risks in retrieving too much of their old belongings; it might be suspicious if the Ring had anyone privy to the warehouse's records. "So, do you actually know how to use any of these things?"

"The soldering iron and the screwdrivers, yes," Chuck said. "But you meant the weird antique corkscrew thingy?"

"Yeah what is that?"

"I think it's a drill. Sarah bought it on a whim from some place in Arizona," Chuck shrugged. "It gives the workbench character."

The door from the house cracked open and Sarah poked her head in. "There you two are," she said, "Come on, its time for the security briefing."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "Is that really necessary?"

"If you're staying with us you need to know how to set up the system, or you'll basically be a prisoner, so yeah."

"It's not that bad, Chuck," Sarah said.

"It's pretty bad. Bad-ass, that is," he quickly backpedaled when he caught the glint in her eye. Chuck followed Sarah and Ellie into the back hallway.

"Okay, Ellie, you first," Sarah had to hand off Lisa to Chuck.

"I thought Lisa didn't like leaving you?"

"We smell enough alike that she doesn't know the difference," Chuck said without thinking about it, until Sarah blushed faintly and Devon tried to fist-bump him. Then it was his turn to flush. "I just meant because we use the same soap and shampoo and stuff," he pointed an accusing finger at everyone. "You all need to get your minds out of the gutter."

Ellie shook her head. "I'm first at what, Sarah, you didn't explain."

"Give me your hand," Sarah grabbed her sister-in-law's wrist and tapped a quick code into the alarm panel. A small cubby opened in the wall to reveal a palm-scanner, and Sarah pressed Ellie's hand to it. A green bar of light came up and passed up and down over Ellie's hand, and then a chime sounded. The LED came up with the message.

**New**** Hand-print**** Identified****.**

Sarah tapped more keys on the alarm pad and the readout flashed.

**Ellie**** Woodcomb****:**

**Guest ****Privileges ****Granted****. **

**Length ****of**** Stay****: 3 ****Days****.**

**Please**** Record**** Voice ****Sample ****Now****:**

Ellie and Devon's eyebrows were both climbing.

'Just your name,' Sarah mouthed, and Ellie nodded, saying her name aloud.

**Voice**** Sample ****Confirmed****. **

"Hardcore," Devon said. "What do guest privileges entail?"

"You can come and go, as you please," Sarah said, "and you can get into the Panic Room in an emergency, but you can't actually disable the security system. If we've got the system armed, you have to scan your handprint when you enter or leave the house. All the external doors have secondary electronic locks. Okay, Devon, your turn."

They repeated the process with the second Dr. Woodcomb, and then he grinned. "You guys have a panic room? What's that about? Sarah, I know you can take care of yourself."

"Come on, we'll show you," Chuck said, leading the way for the procession. He had to hand Lisa back to her mother. His skills at preemptive cry-stopping had abandoned him recently. The back hallway wrapped around the open kitchen and dining room to a framed picture on the wall, of Chuck and Sarah at their wedding. Ellie rolled her eyes again to see Chuck in his Han Solo getup and Sarah in full-on sci-fi space armor as Leia in her disguise as Boussh the bounty hunter, helmet held under her arm. Vader was standing by to give away the bride and Chewbacca was serving as Chuck's best man.

"Hey," Chuck said, when he caught his sister's disgruntled expression. "At least its not the slave-Leia costume again. I mean, you've still got that someplace, right Sarah?"

"Among others," Ellie grimaced at that revelation and Sarah shrugged sheepishly.

"TMI you two," Ellie said.

"Sorry," Chuck said and swung the photo aside to reveal another hand-scanner. "Okay, your guest privileges don't normally cover getting in here, but if the alarm gets tripped, then, you just put your hand on here," Chuck did so as he spoke, "and viola."

A section of wall retracted with a familiar hiss, and Ellie glared at him suspiciously. It wasn't exactly like the doors from Star Trek, but it was close enough. The door slid up out of the way to reveal a metal pole and a hole in the floor. Chuck grabbed on and slid down out of sight. Devon boomed a laugh and slid down after Chuck.

Ellie turned on Sarah. "You've got to be kidding me. You let him put a fireman's pole in the house? You know you're supposed to be the one in charge, right? Now Devon's going to want one."

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean? It's the most efficient way. We could have gone with a slide like the base under the Buy More had, but-"

"You had a secret base under the Buy More?" Ellie gaped at her. "With a slide?"

"Didn't we tell you about that?" Sarah shrugged. "Yeah, the CIA put it in when the place had to get 'fumigated' a few years back."

Ellie shook her head and then frowned from the metal pole to Sarah and Lisa in her arms. "Is there another way in? It can't be safe for you to slide down that with Lisa, can it?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, hang on," she reached over to a panel on the wall in the alcove and hit a couple of buttons. After a few seconds, there was a swish of pneumatic piping and a metal plate slid into place in the hole. "That's how you get out, too," Sarah explained stepping onto the disc of metal. Another button press and she was lowered gently.

"How do I get the elevator back up?" Ellie said.

"What, too prim to slide down a pole?" Sarah called back. Ellie heard Chuck coughing a moment later and blushed. Chuck yelped a second after that, and Sarah's voice wafted up to Ellie again. "Who's got their mind in the gutter now, buster?" Sarah sent the elevator disc back up, and there was no more mention of pole-sliding.

There was a pair of cots folded along one wall as well as a spare crib for Lisa, and a bank of computer monitors along the other wall. A walk-in closet at the back held shelves full of MREs and a chemical toilet. Chuck demonstrated the panic room functions for Ellie and Devon. There was a second nearly six-inch thick vault door that closed off the panic room from the small entry alcove with the firehouse pole.

Though there was little chance they'd ever be forced to call on the room for its original intended function, as fallout shelter, it was nice to know they had it. And for once, it was nice to be the one who had total control over the cameras. They mostly covered the exterior of the house, and just the living room and the upstairs den-so Chuck could spy on the places he expected to have trouble with handsy teenagers in the years to come, and make sure they really were 'just studying'. Devon was looking at all the equipment enviously once Chuck explained the nosy-dad part of the equation, and Chuck raised an eyebrow at Ellie.

"Yeah," she said, looking fondly at Lisa. "Us too."

"Congratulations!" Sarah said. "I mean, it is congratulations, right? I thought you were waiting until next year at least. Or did you mean 'us too,' as in birth control-mishap?" She grimaced at Chuck apologetically for her over-curiosity about Ellie and Devon's baby-making situation.

Ellie shook her head. "No. No mishaps, just... we crunched the numbers again. It's time."

Devon grinned and wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders, beaming. It was a far cry from the spit-take he'd done when Ellie had teased him about being pregnant a few months ago upon Chuck and Sarah's return to LA.

"They're a lot of work," Sarah said, hefting her daughter. She wrinkled her nose. "And also sometimes stink-messy. But they're worth it. Dirty diapies and all."

"Oh, can I change her?" Ellie said. "I need to get in some practice."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Of course you can changer her!" She shared a brief glance with Chuck, who looked just as overjoyed as she to be out of the diaper changing business for a while. "How long can you stay before they need you back at the hospital?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Hopefully I'll still get the next chapter out on Friday as scheduled, but if not I'll see you Monday. Thanks to everybody who reviewed the last chapter, please kept them coming. They are the fuel that makes the story engine go. Or maybe the oil? Actually wait. They're the fuel injector. This metaphor is officially getting away from me.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter has pseudo-techno-babble in it, which is partially the cause for the delay. I chickened out of actually doing research into hacking terminology. Just go with it. Also, it's not weird that I'm posting a Thanksgiving chapter on Ash Wednesday is it? It feels a little weird.

And before the voting closes, it bears mention that _Chuck__ & __Sarah __vs __Themselves_ is in a runoff for the Awesome award for "Best Feature Length Story," until Friday, so, consider this my final attempt at shameless self-promotion: vote for me!

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><p>Chapter 11:<p>

"I just want to thank everybody for coming," Chuck said. "It means a lot having you here, Ellie, Devon, Kevin. Mrs Graham, I know Sarah really appreciates you coming as well. And I know I haven't really had the time to get to know you as well as I should, but—"

"That's all right, Chuck," Victoria said. "I know how hard they work you kids down at Langley. My husband, god rest him, worked there almost thirty years. So I know..."

Ellie had half-turned in her chair to stare at Mrs. Graham. Sarah winced visibly when Lisa grabbed her hair. "Mr. Graham was Deputy Director of Operations for ten years, Ellie," Sarah explained. "Basically he was my boss, until he died a couple years ago."

"Doing what, exactly?"

Victoria laughed bitterly. "That's classified, dear," she said. "I'm used to it by now. And we've killed the Thanksgiving mood, haven't we?"

Devon grimaced. "Don't worry about it, ma'am."

"I'm sorry, I just..." Ellie said. "How do you get used to now knowing?"

"El, this isn't the time," Devon started.

"It's fine, son," Victoria said, and shifted in her seat to look directly at Ellie. "You're a doctor, right? You take doctor patient confidentiality serious, don't you?"

"But this is different it's—"

"You're right, it is different, but it's not _that_different." Mrs. Graham said. "The more you know, the more danger it puts you in. Which makes them worry, which puts _them_in more danger. And that's how I could get used to it. Some secrets _need_to be kept."

Ellie shook her head, unwilling perhaps to make that leap yet. "But... I'm his big sister," she said. "I'm supposed to make sure he's okay."

"I'm a big boy, Ellie," Chuck said. "Okay, this is getting morbid. Scarfing turkey is now our conversation topic. Sarah, you want to do the honors?"

She handed Lisa to Ellie and scraped her chair back, coming over to take the carving knife from Chuck. Her hands moved with a natural fluidity as she flipped the knife through her fingers. Chuck grinned and Ellie's eyes widened. "That knife skills course you mentioned," she said. "That wasn't at any culinary institute was it?"

Sarah's lips twitched slightly, and she winked. "That's classified too."

Ellie's jaw dropped open momentarily, until Devon boomed a laugh. It was infectious, and after a moment everyone was laughing, the tension of the moment broken. Ellie blushed and hid it in taking a sip of her wine.

Devon and Kevin ended up with the wishbone, and Devon won. He punched his fists into the air in triumph, until Kevin grinned. "I let you win."

"What? No way, bro. That was all me," he put out his hands. "See that, steady as a rock. That was pure technique little bro."

Chuck rolled his eyes from the other side of the table, but it was fun seeing the brothers together. It was too bad that Evan, their middle brother hadn't been able to make it up from his job at CDC in Atlanta. But then, if he had, Woody and Honey wouldn't have had anybody to spend Thanksgiving with. It made him think about his own father, back in a cabin or an Airstream trailer somewhere in California.

Chuck should have invited him, but that secret bombshell Stephen Bartowski had dropped on him was still fresh in his mind even a couple months after the fact. He couldn't so much as think of his father without thinking of that as well—his mother hadn't run out on them; she was dead, had been dead almost twenty years— he glanced across the table at Ellie and knew he had to say something. "Ellie, can we go talk for a minute?" he said.

She frowned, fork full of stuffing halfway to her mouth. "Now? Can it wait until we're done eating?"

"Sure, I guess—" The doorbell cut him off.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Who's that? Did you invite anybody else?"

"No," Chuck said. "I'll go check."

He walked over and checked the video monitor that flipped out of an innocuous looking bit of molding near the front door. Chuck frowned, and keyed the biometric locks before hauling the door open. "Jones, man," Chuck said. "What's up? You look wrecked."

"Where's your computer?"

"Upstairs, why? Hey!" Jesus shoved past Chuck and headed upstairs at a flat sprint. Chuck whirled in place, and caught Sarah's eye. Her eyebrows were raised in shock, as were most of the Thanksgiving guests. Chuck shrugged and charged up the stairs after his old Stanford buddy.

He caught up to Jones in the upstairs bedroom Chuck had claimed, at least for now, as his computer room; Jones had his arm down behind the desk and yanked the cords out of the wall.

"What the hell, man?"

Jones turned, the trailing ends of the cables still in his fist. "We've been hacked."

"Start at the beginning. 'We' who?"

"CIA," he said. "We've been hacked. I was going over some of the log files and something caught my eye. I thought at first it was just a memory leak. Some of the old network code from back in the early nineties is just frighteningly out of date. It took me four hours to track it down even when I knew what I was looking for. The guy is _good__. _No backtrace whatsoever this time."

"How long has he been in the system?" Chuck asked.  
>"Almost two months," Jones said. "<em>I<em>_know__, _okay? But the way he got in, if he did much more than sit in those system nodes I found. We'd have known about it before now."

"Okay. You're going to need to get to the point. How bad is this?"

"Potentially pretty bad. From what I can tell they didn't have access to any of the Intersect data; no subject names or anything like that. But its still Top Secret data they've been siphoning."

"Like..."

"That's how they knew to hit the meeting in London."

Chuck grimaced and then blinked, as something Jesus had said earlier trickled its way into his conscious thoughts. "You said_this__time__,_" Chuck said. "You've run into this guy's work before?"

"He was the one who managed to decode your location in Arizona," Jones said.

Chuck clenched his fist and his knuckles popped. Memories of that day were coming back, the Ring assault on his _home_, being whisked away by Casey while Sarah was in labor. He'd let himself forget about this nameless hacker who'd caused all that trouble.

"You know anything about him?"

"No, just that I recognize some of his code," Jones said. "I wanted to come over and make sure your system was safe."

"You could have just called."

"My guys are still going over what's been compromised over at Langley, for all I know, the guy might have had a feeler into the CIA switchboard. I didn't want to take the risk."

"There's this new invention called a cellular telephone?"

"I don't carry a cell phone," he said. "Even the disposable ones have GPS in them now. I don't want to make it easier for anyone to track me. I'd have stopped at a pay phone, but they're an endangered species lately."

"But... you work for the CIA. They're the people who do most of the tracking."

"Look, Chuck. It's not that I don't trust the CIA. It's that I don't trust everybody _in_the CIA. And aren't you the guy who had to fake his death to hide from Ring operatives inside the CIA?"

Chuck threw up his arms helplessly. "Point taken, but... If you don't have a cell phone, then how do you make phone calls if you're away from home? They're phasing out payphones everywhere."

"I use land lines, or I borrow somebody's cell, if it's an emergency." Jones shrugged. "Sorry I interrupted Thanksgiving Dinner, but it was important. I thought you'd want to know."

"You tell Myers yet?"

"No," he said, "Can I borrow your phone for a minute?"

Chuck rolled his eyes.

"Wait, why were you working on Thanksgiving?" Chuck said later. Jones was under the computer desk trying to repair the damage he'd done to the ethernet wall-socket when he'd yanked the internet connection out of the wall. Now that they had determined Chuck's computer remained inviolate, he was concerned he'd have to actually spend the black Friday at an electronics store. He had enough bad memories of the experience from the other side of the desk, that he never wanted to subject himself to the post-thanksgiving present rush if he could avoid it.

"Not everybody gets turkey day off, Chuck," Jones said. Chuck managed a wry grin. He knew that all too well. "Or has family to spend it with,"

He shrugged sheepishly. "Then you should have said something; I'd have saved you a drumstick. As it is the Awesome brothers took them." Chuck leaned against the computer desk. "You know, I never asked; how did this hacker get in last time?"

"There was a leak, somebody gave him their network passkey and he reverse engineered the protocols. Like I said, not an amateur job," Jones said. "He could have just used the passkey he'd been given, but that would have pointed right to our traitor. It took us almost a whole three week long Company-wide molehunt to figure out where the leak was."

"And then you changed the protocol, so he couldn't do it again."

"Of course."

"But he did it again."

"Yes," Jones said shortly.

"How did he do it, though?"

"I don't know. He's better than me, obviously."

"Don't be so defensive, I'm just thinking out loud," Chuck rubbed his chin and sat at the computer, flicking on the monitors. He had spent a tidy sum on his setup, and hadn't skimped on the monitors; he had four. "Here, I'm giving you monitor three," he said. "There's a second keyboard in that drawer behind you. Can you show me everything you've got on this guy?"

"It's not much, I don't know what you think this is going to help with."

"You mentioned the log files were wonky?"

"Yeah, I did. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Mr. Barnard's PDA. His log files were wonky too. Remember I said something when we got through that layer of encryption?"

Jones' jaw dropped. "You think this guy had Barnard hacked too?"

"And if he did," Chuck said. "You're the expert on the guy, right? You duplicated his work on the uplink to the Clarkdale house, right? I've been thinking. Back in London, they didn't say anything about losing the guy's PDA; they weren't worried what data he had on it."

"And you think that's because they already knew?" Jones pushed his long hair out of his face, obviously thinking out the implications. "Which also means they'd know if we penetrated the encryption because their man was looking at my system too. They'd know far enough ahead of time to alter their arrangements if we learned anything important. We could hang on... if we only had the PDA here."

"About that," Chuck said. He reached in another drawer.

"What is that?"

"Q-36 Gamecopier. I know it's not exactly kosher, but I like to travel with one of these, just in case. I made a copy before we turned the PDA over to Casey when we got back. It's not that I don't trust the CIA..."

"Yeah," Jones grinned. "I read you, Chuckles."

* * *

><p>"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Sarah said from the doorway a few minutes later. "And you're in tandem coding mode. You're not coming back to dinner, are you?"<p>

"We just made a break through in the interstitial matrix encoding the-"

"We talked about this, Chuck," Sarah cut him off. "Remember?"

He nodded. "No techno-speak unless you've got at least two cups of coffee in your system. Sorry. In lay terms, we think we can crack Barnard's PDA tonight."

"That easy?"

"Somebody's been there before us," Jones said. "The last couple month's we were trying to brute force decrypt the data, not looking for a backdoor. So now that we know it's there, it can't stay hidden for very long. The guy who did the hacking isn't _that_good."

"I'll go bring you guys up some turkey sandwiches," she said with a sigh. Chuck launched himself out of his chair and darted across the room to wrap her in a brief hug and plant a smooch on her cheek.

"You're the best."

"And don't you forget it, buster. If you want pumpkin pie you have to come downstairs and be sociable though."

* * *

><p>"So how are things at the hospital?" Sarah asked Ellie while scooping out ice cream onto the waiting slices of pumpkin pie.<p>

"Pretty great actually. Devon's surgery stats are tops in his specialty, so he's pretty much a shoe in for the attending spot. And I got that fellowship I applied for."

"That's awesome, you two. Actuallly, I've been meaning to ask; how did you both manage to get time off?"

"We had to agree to work Christmas," Ellie said, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, that's awful."

"Remind me to tell you about pervy homeless Santa we had to deal with last year."

Sarah shuddered. "Okay, I don't envy you the normalcy of your job anymore."

"You envied my job's _normalcy_?" Ellie said, eyes wide as they would go. "Do you just not watch TV? Those medical dramas with all the crazy hijinks? Not so far off from reality."

"Sorry," Sarah said. "Touchy subject?"

"No, not really. Just..." she laughed. "Normal is not a word I use about my job."

"Huh," Sarah started to say more, but Chuck's voice boomed from upstairs.  
>"Eureka!"<p>

Lisa turned at the sound, curious, but not upset by the noise, thankfully. Sarah went to the bottom of the stairs. "Everything okay up there?"

"Uh... sort of. You mind coming upstairs again? We've got a... you know, a thingy."

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

Victoria nodded sagely. "It's okay, Sarah."

"Thingy is code for CIA stuff?" Ellie said. "Really? He can't come up with anything better than 'thingy?'"

"Give him a break, hon," Devon said. "Can't exactly 'go on a date with Sarah' anymore can he?"

Ellie seemed to make that realization for the first time. "Were all your dates cover for missions?" she asked.

"About half to three quarters," she shrugged. "That and 'nerd herd home installs'. Oh, and Awesome's bachelor party, remember?"

"What?" Devon said, sitting up straighter and glancing sidelong at his wife. "You never told me that. Why am I the last to know about this?"

"Well, you did kind of get drugged," Sarah said. "I wasn't sure you'd take it that well."

"Sarah, you coming?"

She took in with a glance what looked to be a brewing argument between the doctors Woodcomb and fought down a grin. "I'm just gonna... yeah," she beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

><p>"Alright," she said when she got back upstairs. "So, what did you find out?"<p>

"You know how NASA's supposed to launch that satellite this weekend?"

"Not really."

"I told you about it over dinner Monday night?"

"Right, of course," Sarah said. "I remember." She gave him her 'innocent face' and Chuck raised an eyebrow at her. "Go on."

"They've got something planned. Or at least, Nathaniel Barnard thought so. That might have been what he was trying to sell us in exchange for immunity. Maybe they're going to sabotage the launch, or something? Barnard wasn't privy to that information. Really, even getting what intel he did is an achievement, with him on the run and all."

"So," Jones said. "I guess we need to call NASA and get them to bump up security then?"

"No," Sarah said. "A visible move like that could tip them off. We want to catch them at it, don't we? Or at least get eyes on them, try to identify more people in Volkoff's New Ring."

"I've always wanted to see a launch in person," Chuck said.

"I didn't mean us," Sarah said. Chuck gave her his best pouty-eyes and after a brief attempt to resist, Sarah rolled her eyes at him. "Fine, let's call Beckman and set it up."

"You kidding?" Chuck said. "We can't tell Ellie what it's about, and so she'll never let us go."

"Let me handle Ellie," Sarah said. "You may be surprised. She's pretty taken with Lisa. I ask her to babysit while we're away for a couple of days and she might jump at it."

Chuck nodded thoughtfully. Lisa Bartowski, the embodiment of cuteness, could be plenty distracting. It just might work, at that. "We can even have a romantic night out in Orlando maybe."

Sarah grinned saucily at him. "You play your cards right, you may even get lucky."

Jones held up his hand. "Um. Did you forget I was in the room? Cause this right here?" he took in the office with an expansive gesture. "This is a little awkward."

Chuck blushed. "Uh... sorry, Jesus."

TO BE CONTINUED...

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><p>AN: So, I think I'm going to have to ease off on my attempts to update more than once a week on this story. I like posting on Wednesdays. Mostly because I like typing Wednesday. Wednesday. I'll stop that now. Wednesday.

Thanks for all the reviews so far. I seriously love getting feedback that I can use to make my writing better, so keep it up, please. Expect the next chapter in seven days. Or, if you prefer, Wednesday. Sorry. Last one. Wednesday. I lied.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thanks to everybody who voted for me in the Awesome Awards. I actually came home with a couple; _vs Themselves_ won for Best Feature Length Story, and I also won a Lifetime Achievement Award. Which is a little surreal for a 28 year old to be getting, but hey! Shiny!

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><p>Chapter 12:<p>

Black Friday

November 24, 2011

0710 EST

"So," Chuck said, glancing at his watch. "This is weird. Kevin's usually very punctual. Of the 'to be early is to be on time' school of thought, even. I'd have thought he'd be out waiting for us at the curb. It's ten after."

"Well, he did run out of the house looking for booze last night when everybody was fawning over Lisa," Sarah said. "Maybe he overslept."

"Call him?" Chuck already had his phone out.

"Yeah, sure," she said.

"It's ringing," he shook his head a moment later. "Nope, he kicked it to voicemail."

"Okay, you stay with the car," Sarah said. "I'll go see what his problem is."

"Shouldn't I do that?" Chuck said. "What if he's... you know?"

"Dead?"

"No. Naked."

"Then it'll be extra embarrassing for him if I show up at the door."

Chuck frowned. That logic was... not like his earth logic, but he supposed it was still logical, in its own way. Sarah leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Need to stretch my legs anyway. Be right back," she said before sliding out of the driver's side of the Behemoth and heading to the front door of Kevin's apartment complex.

* * *

><p>"Ugh," Kevin groaned when the phone rang again. He rolled over on top of a warm body sharing his bed with him; this wasn't necessarily a surprise, but it still took him a moment to remember his Thanksgiving night-out. And another couple of seconds to remember her name.<p>

"I think that's yours. Sorry," she said sleepily. "I sent the first one to voicemail. I don't usually have to worry about extra cell phones and waking up in guys' beds."

"Glad to hear it," Kevin grunted and tried to climb over her to get to the phone.

"Hey watch it," she laughed, and their limbs tangled in the darkness. "Uh-oh-"

They tumbled out of the bed onto the floor with a thump, and she groaned.

"Is that your gun," she said, "Or are you just happy to see me?"

Kevin felt around and tugged the leather-holstered weapon free from where it had poked her, and glanced at it. "Glock 23. That's yours. Mine's a 1911."

She frowned at that, pushing herself up so she was sitting astride him and taking the weapon back. "I thought you said you worked National Security Branch. Only FBI agents I know that carry .45s are in Hostage Rescue." They'd talked about work briefly the night before, and he'd mentioned his cover FBI post.

"It's a personal weapon," Kevin said after a moment of shock, before finally finding his phone. It stopped ringing an instant before he grabbed it. "Crap," he said, flipping it open to look at the caller ID. "It's work."

"If you want me to leave, you could just say so," she flicked a fan of her vivid red hair out of her eyes.

"Hey," Kevin said. "What do you take me for, Renee? It really is work."

"A likely story-" she smirked, but a moment later there was a knock at the front door to his one bedroom apartment.

"You'd better be dead in there, Woods," a woman's voice proclaimed. "We're supposed to be at Andrews in... fifteen minutes."

"I told you," Kevin said.

"Your partner?" Renee asked.

Kevin shook his head. "Worse, my boss. Could you... let me up?"

Renee blushed and extricated herself, wrapping the bedsheet around her nakedness. Kevin grabbed his boxers from the floor.

"Uh, just give me a second, Sarah!"

Renee froze, staring at him goggle-eyed. "What did you say?"

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "My boss... Special Agent Sarah Barton."

"Son of a bitch!" Renee hissed, racing out of the bedroom.

Kevin followed at a less breakneck pace, and caught up to her in the tiny entryway, where she was spying through the peephole. After a moment she spun, putting her back to the door and running her hand through her hair. She glared at him accusingly. "You're CIA."

"No I'm not," Kevin said reflexively, and started parroting back his FBI cover.

Renee shook her head. "I'm the one who set that up!" She whispered hoarsely. "Your boss is my kid sister!"

"Hey, wait. You said your last name was Peters," Kevin whispered back just as fiercely. "Her maiden name was Walker."

Renee shook her head slowly. "That was a cover."

"Nertz. I should have thought of that."

"So, you work for my sister. At the CIA."

"Double nertz. I'm sort of supposed to keep that on the down low."

The knocking came again, more insistently. "You'd better answer that, or she'll just pick the lock."

"If you don't answer the door, I'm going to pick the lock," Sarah's voice came through the heavy wood of the door a moment later.

Renee pointed at the door over her shoulder. "See."

"Okay, do you want to hide in the other room or something?" Kevin said.

She shook her head helplessly.

Kevin shrugged. "Well, uh... we could always feign amnesia. Pretend we don't know how we got here or who we are?"

"Seriously?"

"Come on, it's a good plan. I think it really has a chance of working."

"Yeah two chances. Fat and Slim. Better to bite the bullet... so to speak."

"You sure?"

She rolled her eyes. "She's gonna figure it out eventually anyway."

* * *

><p>The door opened, and Sarah's mouth dropped open, her eyebrows rose and she stood speechless for several seconds. Kevin looked chagrinned and shrugged sheepishly. Renee held the bedsheet around herself. Sarah closed her mouth, and opened it, trying to speak, pointing mutely from Kevin to Renee and back, still unable to form words.<p>

"This..." Kevin started. "I was going to say 'this isn't what it looks like,' but I'm... pretty sure this is exactly what it looks like."

"You're_ dating_ my sister?" Sarah finally managed to say.

Kevin and Renee exchanged a startled glance. "Uh, no..." Renee said slowly.

"We're engaged," Kevin said deadpan. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her up against his side.

Sarah's eyes tried to pop out of their sockets. For all of two heartbeats, before Renee fought free and slugged him in the shoulder. "He's kidding, Sarah. This was a drunken one night stand. Come on, I'm almost ten years older than him."

"That's well shy of the record," Kevin put in. "And I'm quite a catch, if I do say so myself." Sarah and Renee turned eerily similar blue-eyed glares at him. He sighed. "Nobody gets me. I'm gonna go put some clothes on. You two talk, or arm-wrestle, or whatever it is sisters do when they're mad. Just so long as I don't lose my security deposit."

* * *

><p>Sarah glared at Kevin in the rearview mirror the whole trip to Andrews, and it didn't look like she was going to let up on the trip in the Gulfstream that was waiting for them when they arrived. She sat, once they'd boarded the business jet, arms crossed and jaw set, still glaring. Chuck was still trying to figure out what had gone on upstairs when the plane started taxiing, but Sarah's expression didn't suggest any input on his part would be appreciated.<p>

When they had leveled off at cruising altitude, Kevin finally broke the awkward silence. "How was I supposed to know she was your sister?" he said, and Chuck's eyebrows rose. "For that matter, why the hell didn't she come to Thanksgiving dinner? That would have saved us all a lot of grief."

"Hang on, what?" Chuck said.

Sarah turned on him for a moment, though her expression softened slightly. "Kevin slept with my _sister_."

"Hang on, hang on. Hang on," Chuck said, rooting around for his bottled water. "Okay, say that again." He took a swig so that the second time around he was able to do the spit-take that this news so richly required. Sarah rolled her eyes, already half-figuring out his plan.

"Kevin slept with my sister," she said, and Chuck spit a mist of water onto himself. Sarah cracked a grin, briefly, but went back to glaring at the world in general soon after.

"You know, that is a valid point, though," Chuck said as he bent to grab a napkin to wipe his face. "You did call and invite her to Thanksgiving, didn't you?"

She shrugged one shoulder and frowned guiltily. "I meant to..."

"A-ha! So this is actually all _your _fault!" Kevin said.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You are not helping your case, here, Woodcomb."

"Seriously, man," Chuck said. "Being my brother in law wasn't enough, you had to go for double in laws? That's a little weird."

"I didn't know she was your sister, Sarah!" Kevin protested.

"That doesn't make it any better," she shot right back. "One night stands are a security risk!"

"Now she tells me," Kevin muttered. "I'm gonna go use the can." This with a pointed look at Chuck; apparently this was to be Chuck's time to defuse the situation.

He rolled his eyes at the passive aggressive goings-on and turned in his seat. "Are you really that upset? I mean, she's entitled to make her own decisions."  
>"I'm not..." Sarah blew out a sigh. "You're right. I shouldn't be mad. It's just; she's thirty six years old and she's not over her 'one night stand phase.' I grew out of that in college."<p>

Chuck frowned.

"And that's something you didn't know about me," Sarah said. "Yeah. I got drunk at a frat party sophomore year, and woke up in some guy's bed. But I was freaking nine_teen_, not bearing down on forty, and that was the last time."

"So you're actually _upset _that you finished sowing your wild oats and got married before your sister? That's usually an elder sister getting upset with little sis type deal. I mean, if romantic comedies have taught me anything."

"What? No." she glared at him half-heartedly. "I'm mad that I had to _know _about it. The 'sowing' part."

"And now you know what I had to deal with for like eight years living with Ellie and Devon."

She wrinkled her nose. "Yes, but..."

"And I walked in on them in the shower that one time."

"Okay, ew? I get it," she let out a sight. "But, it's still going to make Christmases pretty awkward."

"Well, I did offer to let you stay in the van. I could have kept this horrible knowledge from you."

Sarah glare-pouted at him, and he gave her a conciliatory smooch that smoothed the frown-lines in her forehead.

When Kevin came back into the main cabin, Sarah declared a truce.

* * *

><p>Kennedy Space Center<p>

Cape Canaveral, Florida

1315 EST

They were only a few minutes late to their appointment with the Project Coordinator for the satellite launch, but as a result they were kept waiting for twice that. Chuck grimaced; if the level of pettiness on display kept up, he didn't have high hopes for the mission. Finally, the receptionist buzzed them in. The Coordinator was in his late middle years, fifty-five or so, and built kind of like a beer-keg, with his graying hair slicked to one side in an attempt to cover a bald-spot. Not quite a Donald-trump 'swoop' level of ridiculousness, but in the same ballpark. "Mr. Cernan, I presume?" Sarah said. "I'm Special agent Barton, and these are my colleagues, Agents Barton and Woods."

"You're both Agent Barton?" he said, frowning. "No relation?"

"He's my husband," Sarah rolled her eyes at his reaction and pressed on to avoid being sidetracked. "The point of our being here is that we have actionable intelligence stating that there is going to be some attempt to interfere with the launch of the Chimera Satellite system."

"Well that's crazy!"

"Our intelligence is pretty reliable," Chuck said.

"I'm sure you think so. But why would anyone want to sabotage the launch?"

"Why don't you tell us?" Kevin said. "Anything unusual about the satellite itself? I know there was some controversy a few years back, when you tried to launch a nuclear powered satellite. Anything like that/"

"No, no. Of course not. It's a... weather satellite."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. He was easy to read. "With a name like Chimera? Who are you kidding?"

Cernan shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Spill," Sarah said.

"It's classified," the Coordinator said. "I can't..." he trailed off when he recognized that Chuck was struggling not to laugh. "Well it is. Classified."

Chuck grinned. "We're cleared as high as Jesus," he said, which was the literal truth. Chuck and Jesus _Jones _now shared the same special access clearances.

Cernan didn't know exactly how to take that, and they finally had to get him to call in their clearances to the FBI; thankfully Renee had taken care of that aspect of the operation weeks ago. "I apologize, but this really is a sensitive project."

"Okay, so... what gives?" Chuck said. "Some kind of weapons system?"

"No, nothing like that!" Cernan shook his head so emphatically that his double chin waggled. "There's very little possible military application, it's- I guess the GPR could have _some..._"

"Stop rambling," Sarah said. "How about you just explain the name Chimera first?"

He nodded. "The satellite has three main features, which would usually be found in a dedicated bird with just one purpose. Hence the name. The first is a sophisticated communications suite; like one of the new TV satellites. Second, we've got state of the art cameras, infra-red, normal light, and even ground penetrating radar. And third, its equipped with an experimental solar sail."

"What do you need all that for?" Kevin frowned.

"Well, we don't have all the funding earmarked quite yet," Cernan said, but it's meant to be the precursor to a permanent lunar settlement. The plan is to put it through some testing in geosynchronous orbit around earth, before we deploy the solar sail and move it out to lunar orbit."

Sarah stole a glance at Chuck, who was fighting a losing battle with an ear-to-ear grin at the mention of moon bases. "Why not just launch the thing straight into lunar orbit?"

"Well, solid fuel rockets are a scoch on the expensive side, and we needed to make our budget request as small as possible to maximize chances it'll go through. If we do go back to the moon, Chimera will serve double duty as communications switchboard and surveying equipment. The ground-penetrating radar can tell us if there's any tectonic problems."

"What happens if the funding doesn't go through."

"It'll go through."

"Yeah, sure it will," Sarah said. "There's gotta be a contingency, though."

"Well, yes. The satellite will transfer to CIA control if that happens. Something about losing funding for their new- what did I say? Why are you rolling your eyes like that?"

"That's why somebody wants to sabotage the launch. How deep does that Ground Penetrating Radar scan?"

"Quite far," Cernan said. "Hundreds of meters."

"How long do you have before the CIA takes over the satellite?" Kevin asked.

"Two years; if the initial funding isn't in place by then, it reverts to CIA. But we'll get the funding in the new budget, I'm sure of it."

"Me too," Sarah said. She didn't quite roll her eyes. "I'm sure you will. Just to be safe, though. We'll need to go over your on-site security measures."

"I'll set it up. Our head of security will do all he can to accommodate you. If you'll excuse me, though? I'm sure you understand I've a lot to do today to make sure Chimera is ready for launch."

Out in the hallway, Sarah snorted. "NASA built a spy satellite. What's the world coming to?"

"It's a communications and surveying satellite," Chuck said. "Weren't you listening?"

Sarah turned on him, trying not to laugh. "Really? You bought that?"

"But-solar sails!" Chuck said.

"Yeah, what are those?" Kevin said.

"It's actually a pretty cool concept. I mean the sun is putting out all kinds of radiation, right. Gamma rays, Alpha particles, all kind of stuff. See the way it works is-"

Sarah blew a raspberry. Chuck glared at her. "The salient point is that this thing has Ground penetrating radar. CIA's only got one satellite with that capability, and it's on its last legs. They're expecting its orbit to decay in the next few months."

"How do you know that?" Chuck demanded.

"How do you not? It's barely classified at all, and you're 'cleared as high as Jesus', remember?"

"So, before we get off-track," Kevin said. "What's the deal about ground-penetrating radar that's so important?"

"Let's say, for instance, that somebody was trying to build... I don't know, a giant supercomputer and they didn't want the heat-bloom from it to show up on Infra-red satellite coverage. Maybe they build it underground?"

"And if they make sure this satellite doesn't launch, then CIA can't use the new ground penetrating radar to find the secret base when their radar recon bird goes dark?" Chuck said. "Thin, Sarah."

"Got anything better?"

He hunched his shoulders. "No. You're probably right. But still, everybody's just assuming the NASA moonbase won't get built!"

Sarah patted him consolingly on the arm and shook her head. "Yeah. 'Cause it's not gonna get built. Ever. Sorry, sweetie."

* * *

><p>Security at Kennedy Space Center wasn't completely foolproof, but it was still formidable. The satellite's physical security arrangements were top-notch, though a full-on commando raid would probably get through. Sarah rated that possibility as 'snowball's chance in hell', but still sent Chuck out to their rental car for the heavy black plastic crate holding their emergency supplies.<p>

"So, what exactly are you expecting to happen," the head of security asked, eyeing the box when Chuck returned.

Sarah shrugged, and popped the crate open, extracting an MP5K submachinegun and slapping a magazine in. "I like to be prepared for every eventuality."

He shook his head in shock, while Sarah handed the weapon to Kevin and continued unpacking. Two more SMGs were distributed along with Kevlar vests emblazoned with FBI in big bold letters. Kevin checked the chamber and nodded, before slinging his weapon over his shoulder. The weapon seemed to blend into his outline as if it was meant to be there.

Chuck joined the man watching the security monitors, on the off chance that he might flash on someone and bust the case wide open. They didn't know who they were looking for, or even what kind of sabotage mission might be planned. The complexity of spaceflight meant that even something as arcane or innocuous as a loosened bolt or fitting might doom the launch. Detecting such a thing would be nearly impossible for even as big a technophile as Chuck; there was no way he'd be able to memorize the plans so quickly, and nobody had thought to put the schematics for the booster engine being used in the intersect. They'd have to trust the NASA maintenance crew to do their jobs.

"Should we... take up positions overlooking the rocket or something?" Kevin said. "In case somebody tries something overt?"

"Yes, please!" Chuck said.

Sarah glanced at Kennedy Center's head of security. The man shrugged. "Just make sure you stay unobtrusive."

"Oh," Chuck said. "That shouldn't be too hard, there's a disguise kit in there too someplace..."

Sarah posed with her SMG propped against her hip, waved the weapon vaguely. "I think he meant these?"

"Right," Chuck frowned. "So that's a no on the fake mustaches?"

Sarah rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>The launch went off without a hitch, to Sarah's consternation, and Chuck's evident glee. Chuck wanted to stop by mission control, only to be told that this particular satellite was being controlled from California. They went back to Cernan's office. Sarah smelled a rat. "See," he said when his receptionist let them in again. "I told you nobody was going to sabotage the launch." Chuck almost expected the man to go into his 'I told you so' dance, but thankfully it didn't materialize.<p>

"I want a list of every person who worked on the project, from its inception to launch. Something hinky is going on here, and I'm going to find out what. We're going to need copies of your personnel files too."

"I can't give you our personnel files without better supporting evidence than 'something's hinky'. Now, if you don't mind? I've got a meeting to get to."

"We'll see about that," Sarah muttered, and made some calls. It wasn't easy; the fact that the satellite had launched without incident put more than a little doubt on their entire mission down in Florida. Beckman wanted them to hop the Gulfstream back that afternoon, but Myers interceded (they were after all, CIA officers) and gave them 24 hours to obtain some positive result before they were recalled.

The FBI and CIA had extremely cordial relationships with all the major credit bureaus, to such an extent that Renee got the last six months worth of credit card statements sent over to their hotel by secure fax. They went a little overboard, and sent the records for nearly everybody at Kennedy.

It totaled up to nearly a dozen boxes full of papers to go through. They had just managed to weed out the names not on their list of project Chimera employees when their problems were only made worse by the shipment of telephone records that came through a couple hours later. Neither of these huge document requests had required a warrant, thanks to the Patriot Act.

It took another two hours, and two large pizzas before Chuck finally found something. "Well, that's odd."

"Yeah," Kevin said. "Great, because I'm tired of looking at Xbox live and taco bell charges. What have you got?"

"Grace Norton, worked on the satellite's operating system code. I've got charges at uh... Bliss Ultra Lounge?" he waved his cellphone. "Yelp says its a night club."

Sarah frowned. "What's so odd about that?"

"Well... she works for _NASA_. And she's hitting the clubs three and sometimes four nights a week. Does not compute." Chuck said in a robot voice.

"That's thin..." Sarah said.

"Well, you've got the phone records," Chuck shrugged. "It's someplace to start, right?"

"Okay, fine. What was that last name?" Chuck held up the credit card statement where she could see. "Oh, here we go..." Sarah said. "That _is_ odd."

"What?"

"All her calls are work calls," Sarah had jotted the NASA telephone numbers down straight off, so they could be eliminated. "I mean, it looks that way..."

"What's so odd about that?" Kevin said. "I'm pretty sure most of my calls are work calls."

"Yeah, but not _all _of them. You talk to your parents, your brothers." She leafed through the pages of phone calls, running her finger down the column of numbers. "Girl goes to clubs that often, and she never calls anybody she meets?"

"Check the nights she goes clubbing?"

"What am I looking for, hon? You've got idea-face."

"No number specifically, just..." he frowned. "What's her call volume like the days she hits the clubs."

"Nothing after five," Sarah said. "Nothing at all until the next mornings..."

"So, she doesn't call her friends to set up a carpool, or meeting at the club at a certain time or anything? She goes to dance clubs alone. And doesn't call anyone." Chuck said. "That doesn't add up, does it?"

"Second cell phone," Sarah said. "Probably a burner."

"So, what are you thinking?" Kevin had merely watched the byplay for the most-part.

"She's meeting her contact at the club," Chuck said. Sarah grinned.

"You read my mind. It's still thin," she said. "But I'm thinking its worth it to at least see if we can't bug that second cell phone."

"We don't even know for sure she _has _a second cell phone," Kevin protested.

"So, you seduce her and go through her purse when she's in the bathroom. And put a bug on any cell phone you find."

"Uh wait, what?" Kevin said. "I don't have any training in... seduction. I don't know how I feel about this."

"Seemed to do alright with _my sister_ last night!"

Kevin winced. "I walked right into that, didn't i?"

"Yes. Yes you did," Chuck said.

"Relax, Kevin. We wouldn't ask you to actually go through with anything. Seduction missions are something of a misnomer. All you really have to do is strike up a conversation with her, make her laugh a little, keep her from being suspicious of you. Then Chuck and I will give you a diversion. You plant the bug while everyone is looking the other way.

"Looking the other way?" Kevin said. "At what?"

"It's a dance club," Chuck said, grinning as if that should explain everything.

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "That really doesn't help me out, Chuck."

"Trust me. Nobody's going to be able to take their eyes off the dance floor," Sarah said, her grin matching Chuck's.

Kevin frowned, and then a light seemed to dawn. "You two just want an excuse for a night on the town. And to get out of going through the rest of this paperwork!"

"Club doesn't open for another five hours," Chuck said. "You're welcome to keep going through the rest of these reports until then if you want? Sarah and I need to practice our dance-steps."

"Is that what you're calling it now?" Kevin made air quotes, grimacing in feigned disgust. "'Dance-steps'?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow, and Kevin threw his hands up in the air. "I'm gonna go clean my guns."

"Is that what you're calling it now?" Sarah shot at his retreating back. Kevin's shoulder slumped and he slammed the door behind him. She turned on Chuck when the door closed. "So, what do we need to practice for? I'm pretty sure you've still got Intersect dancing skills, right?"

"Yeah. About that. Kevin did kind of see through my clever alibi."

"Oh you think it's that easy, buster? Get me in a room alone with you and my clothes just spontaneously fly off?"

Chuck shrugged. "It _has_ been known to happen."

"Yes it has," she grinned. "Race you to the shower?"

"What do I get if I win?"

Sarah waggled her eyebrows at him and grinned. "Use your imagination."

"Look, over there! A three headed monkey!" Chuck said, and bolted for the shower. Sarah stuck out a foot and tripped him.

Chuck landed in a heap with a groan and rolled over. "Ow, c'mere you."

He grabbed the foot she'd used to trip him and pulled her halfway off her perch on the bed. Sarah clung to the bedspread and rebounded to bounce on the mattress; sheaves of papers went flying. Her shoe came off in the struggle, but Chuck kept hold of her foot. "Hey, that tickles, cut it out," she said.

Chuck kissed the inside of her ankle and she froze as he moved up her leg, trailing kisses, peeling the pantleg of her dress slacks up as he went, achingly slowly. Chuck stopped halfway up to her knee. "You still want me to stop?"

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. "What happened to the race to the shower?"

"Good point," Chuck said, and spun away.

Sarah blinked in astonishment for a moment, before surging upward to give chase. It was short-lived however. Chuck had tied the shoelaces of her remaining shoe together with those of its discarded twin around one of the legs of the bed, hobbling her momentarily. "You are in so much trouble mister!" Sarah said, laughter in her voice as she pursued.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Next chapter: Chuck vs the Dance Dance Revolution. Not really, but if that's not the title of a fanfic waiting to happen (or has already happened? I'm too lazy to run a search for it...) I don't know what is. Thanks for the reviews to this point. Maybe we can break 200 this chapter?


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: So, Mass Effect 3 happened. That's why this chapter was so late.

* * *

><p>Chapter 13:<p>

"Comm check," Sarah said softly. Kevin nodded and gave her a thumbs-up. "Okay, hand over the gun."

"What?" Kevin said, hand going instinctively to his pistol, a defensive movement. "Why can't I take my gun?"

"What if they've got metal detectors. You might spook the target if you make a scene."

Kevin grumbled about it, but after.a long moment handed over his 45 to Chuck. "That's a family heirloom. Be careful with that," Chuck put it in the glovebox along with Kevin's spare magazines for the weapon. "So, what exactly is our plan?"

"I got Jones to hack into NASA's files and get a picture of your target," Chuck said, passing the printout to Kevin in the backseat of the rental. "You go in, see if she's in there, and give us a heads up when you're about to start chatting her up. We'll wait a few minutes before we go inside and start operation Show Stopper."

"You should let somebody else come up with the codenames."

"I did," Chuck protested. "I wanted operation Sexy Bitch, but Sarah vetoed it."

"Oh. I still have some... concerns about all this."

"You'll do fine," Sarah said. "Just try to make her laugh."

"Not that," Kevin said. "This is the first time I'm the guy inside, not doing overwatch or something."

"Well, relax. It's not like there's going to be teams of goons laying in wait this time."

Kevin nodded, then frowned. He could see in the rearview mirror how Sarah was glaring daggers at her husband. "Uh. Why is she mad at _you_now? Me, I get why she's pissed."

"It's just residual from me nearly getting shot in London."

"Ah. Well, it's all been downhill since we let them start voting."

Sarah turned the glare on Kevin and he put up his hands. "Kidding, _god__!_"

Chuck practically shoved him out of the car to avoid further problems.

"He's got a smart mouth," Sarah said.

"Maybe its an intersect side-effect."

"It would explain the way you like to taunt people with guns."

"No, I come from the Peter Parker school of witty banter."

Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

"I snark to mask my crippling fear."

"Which one is he again?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "You know very well who Peter Parker is. When we watched the Spider-man movies, you made me watch the third one half a dozen times."

"Because turning evil just makes him use his powers to dance and play the piano! It's amazing!"

"What did I tell you about puns?"

"Huh?"

"Amazing Spider-man."

"Oh. Hee."

"You _do_know the comms are open," Kevin said through the earpiece.

Sarah grinned. "Yes. I'm torturing you. Any sign of our subject?"

"Affirmative. Target acquired. Moving to intercept."  
>"Don't talk like that when you get over there," Chuck said. "You'll get maced."<p>

"Thanks for the pep talk, I think it really helped."

* * *

><p>"White wine and Sprite on the rocks," the mark said to the bartender as Kevin walked up.<p>

He leaned against the bar and held up two fingers. "On me. Nice to find another fan of the funky juice."

Grace stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Your drink. It's Liz Lemon's favorite drink. From 30 Rock?"

She shook her head, mildly bemused. He could work with that. "As far as opening lines go, I thought I'd heard them all."

"You come here a lot?"

She shrugged. "Work is kind of stressful."

"Where do you work?"

"Aren't you inquisitive? Where do_you_ work?"

"I'm between jobs at the moment. Just got out of the army."

"Really?" She cocked her head, studying him more closely. "Huh, I should have known. You've got the look. My father was a colonel until he retired a few months ago."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Noticed that, did you?" She said, and took a sip of her funky juice. "NASA. Like I said, stressful."

"So are you an astronaut?"

"Oh, god no," she said. "I'm a big nerd. Speaking of which, uh, don't take this the wrong way? But if you were in the army?"

"Afghanistan, yeah."

"Then how did you watch 30 Rock?"

"Youtube. My dad got me a smartphone with satellite internet access," Kevin said. "Army would only let me use it on the base, for secrecy, but it was pretty cool."

"I didn't know they even made those. What happened to it?"

"Busted. Barracks got hit by mortar fire."

"You want to get a table?"

"Or we could dance?"

"No!" She said. "You don't want to see me dance. I'm a menace. You could wind up in the hospital."

Kevin laughed. "Well, I'll take your word for it, I guess. Kevin, by the way," he juggled his glass of funky juice to extend his hand.

She took it with mock solemnity. "Grace."

They managed to find an unoccupied table and sat. Kevin opened his mouth to say something, but she got there ahead of him. "I'm going to go freshen up, I'll be right back."

"Huh," Kevin said into his wrist microphone after she was out of earshot. "She left her drink. That seems a little oddly trusting, doesn't it?"

"Was any of that true?" Sarah asked over the earpiece.

"Oh, yeah. Pretty much all of it."

"That's not a good idea, Kevin." Sarah said. "The best lies have a grain of truth, not a whole nugget."

"What's the difference?"

"You need to remember why you're here, okay? Lying is a habit you need to get into or you might accidentally tell the truth at the wrong time. We went over this."

"Yeah, I know. It's just... It doesn't come easy for me, okay?"

"You picked up my sister without too much trouble."

"This is completely different," Kevin grumbled. "My motives were pure."

"Really."

"Yes, pure drunken debauchery."

"Lord, you Woodcombs make the worst secret agents."

"Hey," Kevin said. "Wait, what?"

"Devon can't lie his way out of a paper bag either."

"Okay, fair point," his constant scanning of the club turned up Grace, on her way back. "I've got incoming. ETA on that distraction?"

"Chuck's talking to the DJ now."

Kevin managed a grin. "By himself? Uh-oh."

* * *

><p>Sarah's eyes widened. She should have thought of that. Who knows what crazy song Chuck would request. Now she was on edge, her senses went on alert. When no attack had materialized at the NASA launch, she'd begun seeing the whole trip as a washout, as more of a lark than a mission. It had been unprofessional as hell, but she was only human. Now though, the actual plan called for her to make a spectacle of herself, and she didn't relish the idea. The fact that she'd done so before to sell a cover didn't make it any less weird. Chuck's choice of music could make things even worse. What if he picked 'Secret Agent Man?' or something that might give them away. She wouldn't put it past him. Well, actually, it would need to be something they could dance to, and that wasn't really good for dancing, so maybe it wouldn't be anything too silly.<p>

Sarah scanned the club, found Chuck at the DJ's station. He caught her eyes and grinned, flashing her a thumbs-up. Sarah groaned inwardly. She knew that grin.

A moment later, a spotlight swiveled through the crowd on the dance-floor and fixed her in its beam. She had to squint against the glare. The music started, and she didn't recognize the tune at all. Still, she had a job to do, so she stood hipshot, letting the beat wash over her. It was pretty catchy, she had to admit. She stalked toward Chuck, trying to keep up with the lyrincs when they came, but the spotlight was distracting her.

The look on Chuck's face as he watched her dance toward him was worth the looks she was drawing. She grinned and took his hand, drawing him toward her. Chuck slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer.

She turned slowly, bringing her arms up over her head. Chuck's breath on her neck sent a shiver down her spine, and the music shifted, drawing Sarah's attention back to the lyrics.

_**I**__**'**__**m**__** tryna **__**find**__** the**__** words**__** to **__**describe**__** this**__** girl **__**without **__**being**__** disrespectful**__**.**_

She cocked her head and gyrated back to face Chuck just when the chorus hit.

_**Damn**__** girl**__**.**_

_**Damn**__** you**__**'**__**se**__** a**__** sexy **__**bitch**__**. **_

Chuck sang along as they danced, and Sarah glared at him. She remembered the codename he'd wanted to use; and now it all made sense. Of course that just made him grin wider and pop his hands at her, demonstrating that the song was indeed meant to describe her. She rolled her eyes and danced on, determined to make him regret his music choice before the song was over.

* * *

><p>Grace returned from the ladies and set her purse down on an empty chair just before the show started, and Chuck and Sarah certainly delivered on their distraction. Chuck must have paid off the DJ to put a spotlight on them. Very quickly, a circle began to form around them. "Wow," she said as she sat down. "That's certainly one way to go about picking up a girl."<p>

Kevin's palms were sweating, and he swept the room, most people were enthralled by the spectacle of the dancing couple. There were a few scattered catcalls. Grace glanced at him and blushed when that happened. She seemed startled that he wasn't staring along with everybody else, so he turned to watch briefly, while still keeping sight of her in his peripheral vision. Perfect, she was back to watching Chuck and Sarah just about have sex on the dance floor. Which was the point, but still, they were putting it on a little thick, he thought.

He gave it another few seconds before he leaned forward and tried to look into Grace's purse. Rummaging through it suddenly seemed like the most idiotic plan in the world, but he couldn't think of anything better. He'd had a couple lessons from Sarah on how to pick pockets, and this wasn't too different. He just had to keep telling himself that.

Kevin rooted around for a few moments and found her cell phone. He kept his eyes on her face, as much as he could without turning his head and letting her spot his movement out of her own peripheral vision.

Under the edge of the table, he flipped the phone over and thumbed off the back panel. He nearly cursed aloud. There was already a bug in Grace's phone.

Kevin blinked, staring at the little gizmo and his eyes came unfocused. He flashed, and nearly collapsed, blinking away the images. He had a sudden headache. Perfect. No time to consult with Chuck and Sarah, who were... busy on the dance floor anyway. He reached for the bug and stopped himself, grabbed a napkin and used that, pocketing the bug. He had the one he was supposed to plant in his coat pocket, and he wiped it on his pantleg before affixing it in the same spot the first bug had just vacated.

He got the back of Grace's phone back on and slipped the phone back into her bag. The song was just coming to an end, to a round of half-mocking applause. Grace turned back. "If you're as good as that guy, maybe I wouldn't say no to a dance after all."

"Let me use the little boys' room first?"

"Sure."

Kevin's hands shook as he made his way to the men's room. "Chuck, men's room. We've got a problem."

"You plant the bug?"

"Yeah. Just, come on," Kevin quickened his stride, and slid past a man coming out of the bathroom. The was no one at any of the urinals, just one guy finishing washing his hands. Kevin ducked to glance under the doors of the stalls. All were deserted. The handwasher shot him a funny look, and exited. Chuck came in a moment later.

"Lock the door," Kevin said.

"Okay, now will you explain what's going on?"

"I could if I knew," Kevin said. He dug the napkin out and thrust it at Chuck. "Her phone was already being bugged. I flashed, and it's not government hardware. So what does that mean?"

Chuck's eyes widened. "Sarah, you getting this?"

"Yeah," she said. "You're coming through fine. By the way, did you lock yourselves in the men's room?"

"Yes. I figured privacy was a good idea for discussing bugged cellphones. Why?"

"Because there's kind of a line forming, and people are going to think..."

Someone pounded on the door. "Come on, man open up!"

"Uh-occupado, bro!" Kevin said. "This just gets better and better. Now we'll get arrested for public indecency. Okay, let's speed things up then. This thing with the bug changes our mission profile, right?"

"I think it has to," Chuck said. "If she's the leak, its got to be unintentional. Phone records showed she only uses her phone for work, and how hard were her phone records to get?"

"Volkoff could have got their hands on them long ago. Might have somebody watching her," Sarah said. "I'm keeping an eye out, but after that performance, it's a little difficult to blend in, you know."

"Why the napkin?" Chuck said, still studying the bug himself..

Kevin blinked. "Right. When I was replacing this bug with ours, I almost forgot to wipe my prints. It was only seeing the bug already there that made me remember. Even smart people make dumb mistakes some times. Whoever planted the bug is the one we really want, right?"

"It's worth a shot. Sarah, do we have finger-printing powder back at the hotel?"

"We'll make do. You should probably get out of there PDQ. Looks like the manager's coming."

"There's a window," Chuck said, stuffing the bug into his coat pocket. "Meet me around back, Sarah."

"What about me?" Kevin said. Chuck was halfway out the window. "Speaking to management is never a good thing at a nightclub."

"We need somebody to keep tabs on Ms. Norton; if Volkov is having her watched, they might come after her. Try to stick close to her if you can," Sarah said over her earpiece. "No thank you, I'm all danced out."

Which meant Kevin was on his own. Having locked himself in the bathroom. How he was going to explain this to Grace, he couldn't begin to think about.

"Say you have a spastic colon," Chuck suggested, and Kevin realized he'd said that last part aloud.

"Seriously? That's your advice? That's gross. And I don't even know what that is!" Kevin hissed, and went to face the music. He snapped the deadbolt open. "Keep your shirt on."

"What the hell is your problem?" the manager demanded.  
>"Yeah, sorry. I've got a..." He wasn't <em>about<em> to say spastic colon, but what could he say that might help get him out of this situation. "I've got a shy bladder. Sorry for the inconvenience."

* * *

><p>"And that worked?" Chuck said back at the hotel, holding his cellphone to his ear with his shoulder.<p>

"Yeah," Kevin said. "I guess so. I got the cheek kiss at the door though. I'm keeping watch from the 24-hour coffee shop across from her apartment complex, for what good it'll do. Any progress on the bug?"

"A little. We did manage to lift a print, but it looks like it's smudged. Either from heat in the battery compartment of Grace's phone, or us carting it around in a napkin. Sarah woke up Renee and faxed a scan over; it's the middle of the night, and even with a rush order on it, we probably won't know anything until the morning. FBI print lab is backlogged."  
>"Am I going to get any relief on the stakeout front?" Kevin said.<p>

"Let me talk to Sarah about that, and I'll get back to you."

"If I see anybody suspicious I'll call."

"Look out for black SUVs; the bad guys, the good guys, everybody goes for the black SUV."

"I never understood that," Kevin said. "That and the highly conspicuous surveillance vans."

"Surveillance vans are underrated. Roomy enough one of you can stretch out and take a nap. Talk to you later." Chuck said, and hung up. He managed to put his cell phone away without dropping the pizza, which he judged a victory. However, getting his room key out while juggling the pizza-box would be a feat of agility well beyond him. He considered trying to flash on some skill, but thought better of it, and merely placed the box on the floor for a moment.

"Hey, Sarah honey," Chuck said. The bathroom door was closed, so he raised his voice slightly. "I got pizza." When there was no answer, he knocked gently on the door. "You hear me?"

"Yeah, come in."  
>"Are you sure, I thought you said that's where you like your alone time?"<p>

"I'm not-" She sighed audibly, even through the door. "I need pizza, get in here."

Chuck frowned and slowly pushed the door in. Sarah was mostly dressed, and leaning against the counter. "Ah," Chuck said. "Do you still feel like a science experiment when you do that?"

Sarah shook her head and disconnected the hose and cup arrangement from her breast before redoing the velcro flap on her maternity bra. "No, I think I'm getting used to the whole process of pumping out breast milk. And besides if I don't get this stuff out of the girls here, it feels like I'm smuggling bricks in the front of my dress. Very tender, swollen bricks." She poured the small receptacle full of milk down the bathroom sink.

"Seems like a waste."

"Oh, yeah? Were you going to drink it?" Sarah said. "Cause that would have been really icky. I'd rather it just go to waste."

"Fair enough," Chuck said. "Did Ellie ever call you back?"

"Yeah, she says Lisa took the bottle tonight before bed. Drank two whole bottles."

"That's good," Chuck said around a mouthful of pizza. "I know you were worried."

Sarah leaned in and stole a piece of pepperoni from Chuck's pizza. He turned away, trying to protect his food. "Hey, get your own."

"How's Kevin doing?"

"Surveillance from the coffee place across the street; he's hoping for somebody to come relieve him before too long."

"Not it," Sarah said. "I don't think I've had a full night's sleep since Lisa was born. I'll come by in the morning."

"Technically it's morning already."

Sarah shrugged. "Too bad. Don't get into trouble on your stakeout."

"I think in the interest of fairness, we should flip a coin."

"Now you're questioning a valid 'not it' call?" Sarah said. "Okay, but I flip the coin."

"No way, I learned my lesson about sleight of hand the time we played strip poker."

"Well, I'm sure the intersect has a skill flash for that, so your whole coin-flipping idea seems a little untrustworthy."

"I've got a coin flip app on my phone."

"God, you didn't pay money for that, did you?"

"Twenty five cents," Chuck said. "See, it's a quarter."

"Okay, I'm still flipping it though." She grabbed the phone. "How do I do that?"

"Just tap the screen and call it."

"Tails!" Sarah said while the computerized quarter bounced around the phone's display.

"And it's heads."

* * *

><p>Saturday Nov 25, 2011<p>

Sarah had her feet up on the dash and her seat leaned back so she could sleep. She and Kevin had traded off until Chuck had shown up a couple hours later, out of sheer guilt. Sleeping in the back seat of the car had brought back memories of her days on the lam with her father, bittersweet at best, and despite her complaints about lack of sleep, she was the most rested when the sun finally rose.

She caught herself whistling 'Private Eyes' softly when she spotted Grace Norton exit her apartment building in sweats and a tank top before eight o'clock. Her stomach rebelled, reminding her of the pizza and the other junk stakeout food she'd been talked into, and she watched the subject begin her jog with just a hint of envy.

Sarah already had her eye on a jogging stroller for when Lisa was old enough in a couple months. She still kept watch of the building, while Chuck snored in the passenger seat and Kevin sprawled in the back seat, and saw someone acting shifty out front of the building. After a moment, he pushed a button on the intercom panel and someone buzzed him in, so she wrote it off as an early morning booty call or something equally irrelevant to their mission.

Her phone rang and she snatched it from her lap, saw the caller ID was her sister. "You got something?"

"Hello, Sarah, nice to hear from you too," Renee said. "And yeah, I got a partial match. Not good enough to take to court, but the computer did pop out a name. Neil Ritter. He works for NASA too; that's how we had his prints on file. No criminal records, except some parking tickets. Last one was about a month or so ago."

The hair on the back of Sarah's neck started to rise. "Read me the address? And can you send me his personnel photo?"

"200 West Church street," Renee said."Why, where are you?"

"A block away," she said. "That can't be a coincidence. Send me the picture?"

"On the way. You have a computer with you?"

"No, Chuck set up my email to come straight to my phone."

"Fancy."

"Okay, there, it came through. I'm going to have to get back to you."

"Be careful."

"Yeah," Sarah said, before she disconnected. She pulled up her email and found the attached picture. An elbow in Chuck's ribs cut his snores short and he startled awake.

"I'm awake, don't hit me with the ruler Ms. Tenenhauser!" Chuck said in a rush, before he took in his surroundings. "Oh, thank god, it was only a nightmare."

"A nightmare about your third grade teacher?"

"How do you know it was my third grade teacher?" He didn't give her time to explain. "Oh, right. It must be in my file somewhere. I can't believe that's in my file. Hang on. Did you memorize my entire file?"

"Focus, sweetie," Sarah said, showing him the picture. "Renee says the prints match up to this guy-" she cut herself off when his eyelids started to flutter.

"Real name is Carter Owens," Chuck recited. "Used to work for Fulcrum out west until we shut down their base at Black Rock, don't know how he didn't flag security when he got the NASA gig. Former special forces, with a bronze star for valor in the Iraq invasion back in 2003, but then he was court-martial-ed and dishonorably discharged for some kind of sexual impropriety. Files are sealed on the case."

"Great, sounds like quite a catch," Sarah rolled her eyes, and then frowned at the image on the screen. "Hang on... I know this face from some- crap, he's inside the building right now."

"What?" Kevin lurched upright in the backseat.

"You been awake this whole time?"

"The phone woke me," he said. "Who's inside?"

"He must have figured out we found his bug," Sarah said. "Or, no. He probably thinks Grace found it. What are the odds he remembers he made a mistake, not wearing gloves when he planted the thing."

"She's a loose end, then," Chuck said. "He's here to kill her."

"Yeah, but she's out jogging. We've got a window to take him down," Sarah said, "Kevin, swing the car around, and get on the phone to Myers. We're going to have a lot of explaining to do if this doesn't go exactly right."

Chuck shut his door. "Okay, so we do have a plan?" he said as they walked toward Grace's apartment complex.

"I was thinking we just go knock on the door," she said.

"No really."

"Well, it's a little more complicated than that, but that's the gist of it. First we have to get through the security door."

Chuck said. "What apartment is hers?"

"511," Sarah recited from memory. "Why?"

Chuck found the button for 511. The buttons were ranked by floor, with a column set up for each. He racked his hand down two rows of buttons, buzzing every apartment in the first and second floor. Then he moved over and did the same thing to every apartment on floors three and four, leaving Grace's floor untouched so the shenanigans wouldn't alert Owens hiding out in Grace's place. "Yeah, you still don't watch enough TV," he said, a moment before the door buzzed, and he hauled it open.

"What TV show was that from?" Sarah asked as they took the elevator to five.

"Big Bang Theory," Chuck said. "The one with all the nerds?"

"Right, I get that one confused with real life."

"We've got work to do, or have you forgotten?"

"I can't joke and work at the same time? What happened to the Peter Parker school of witty banter?"

"That's me though," Chuck said. "You're supposed to be the comedic straight woman."

"I never agreed to that."

"Double check the marriage license," Chuck said. "There's some fine print on the back you might be interested in."

She glared at him for a moment, before heaving a sigh of relief. "Liar."

"Had you going for a second though, didn't I? Okay, work mode now?"

"Yes," Sarah said, as the elevator doors opened.

They found Grace's apartment, and Sarah fished out her lockpick set. "Keep watch," she said. Chuck leaned against the wall, scanning in both directions. She had the door unlocked in less than fifteen seconds, and stood.

"Okay, she whispered. We just knock on the door, and then stay quiet. When the peephole darkens, we kick the door in on him, subdue him while he's reeling, and have Kevin meet us in the parking lot."

"What if he doesn't come to the door?"

"I can break into the apartment next door and come over onto the balcony. We'll come at him from both sides. Get him in a crossfire if we need to."

"I hope this works, because your backup plans always scare six kinds of hell out of me."

Sarah grinned, rapped hard on the door, and pitched her voice high. "I'm selling girl scout cookies, do you want any?"

"Girl scout cookies?" Chuck whispered.

Sarah put her finger to his mouth, for quiet. "I've got thin mints, and peanut butter patties!"

"We don't want any," a man's voice said through the door. "Go away."

"Can I talk to the lady of the house?" Sarah said. "They usually make these decisions."

Chuck quirked an eyebrow at her, and Sarah waved away his concern.

Sarah pointed, the peephole had darkened, Owens was standing right in position. Her hand stretched out and she twisted the doorknob slowly, still keeping out of the line of sight of the peephole.

She nodded to Chuck, and they spun together, slamming the door into the man's face.

Sarah was a step ahead of him through the door, her silver automatic out and trained on Owens, who lay flat out on his back, clutching his busted nose and groaning. His pistol, a silenced, matte-black number had fallen, and Sarah kicked it back in Chuck's direction. He scooped it up ejected the magazine, and racked the slide to empty the chamber.

"Godmit, ow!" Owens said, slurring his words. He started going for something behind his back, -probably a backup weapon- until Sarah waggled the Smith & Wesson in his face.

"Don't let's try anything fooling, Mr. Owens," she said. "Roll over onto your stomach, hands where I can see them."

Owens did as instructed, after a brief moment where he met her eyes challengingly. Sarah grabbed a revolver from the small of the would-be assassin's back and passed it off to Chuck, before using a ziptie to secure Owens' hands. Her search turned up more weapons, a large folding knife, and a set of throwing knives and another revolver in a pair of ankle holsters.

"What were you going to do with these, Carter?" Sarah asked.  
>"You're crazy if you think I'll tell you anything."<p>

"I'm a little out of practice torturing people, Carter," Sarah said coldly. "I might just kill you trying to make you talk. Maybe make both our lives easier."

"Do your worst, bitch."

Sarah kicked him in the ribs. "Watch your goddamn language," she cocked her head at Chuck. "Let's get him up."

* * *

><p>Getting Owens out of the building unseen proved impracticable, and Sarah had to flash her FBI credentials twice to get out of the building at all. Kevin had been on the phone to Myers, and arranged transportation. They couldn't use the same Gulfstream they'd ridden down in; it was part of the government's fleet of the things, and was now being used by the Governor of Florida on his way to a photo-opportunity or something. Kevin drove them to a small municipal airport where the agency had a two-engine Piper Aztec waiting. There were even papers on file showing that the plane had been purchased by Charles and Sarah Barton more than three years previously. Kevin gaped at the paperwork, and Chuck put on his best mysterious act. "Never underestimate the CIA," he said.<p>

Sarah just had to burst his bubble. "Yeah, but it's a risk. I'm sure he probably had to bring a few people in setting this up so fast. And we still have a mole problem at the agency that has me worried. It's a risk, but hopefully a calculated one."

"Come on, let's get our buddy on the plane," Kevin said. He and Chuck hauled their captive over to the plane. They'd already had the FBI talk with the airport staff. Sarah slid in behind the controls, familiarizing herself quickly. She wasn't technically current in twin engines, but she'd originally learned to fly in an older model of the same plane, so she made do. There were a handful of dials and gauges that she didn't recognize at first. It wasn't until Chuck clambered into the copilot seat and immediately flashed.

"What? This thing's got onboard countermeasures?"

"Guess CIA didn't throw this together all at the last minute after all."

"Yeah, but I'm worried why Myers thinks we need them."

Sarah shook her head. "It's probably leftover from the cold war."

Sarah talked them through ground control and takeoff, heading north, while Chuck fiddled with the countermeasures board. He was keeping out of trouble, so Sarah let him. The worst that would happen is he'd accidentally launch some infra-red decoy flares or some chaff.

Their range in the Aztec was better than a thousand miles, and the maps showed it as roughly nine-hundred back to DC, but Sarah wanted to make a refueling stop along the way, in Charlotte NC. She was talking to air traffic control when Chuck interrupted her.

"Sarah, I think we've got a problem."

"What is it?"

"The countermeasures board just lit up," he said. "If I'm reading this right? We, uh we're in missile lock."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So, if you visit my profile page you will discover that my brain is a very strange place. I've got four stories competing for my Chuck fic writing time after this epic is finished (not for another 20 chapters or so...) and I'll probably only be able to write one of them. So I've got a poll you can vote in. Everybody likes those, right?

Keep those reviews coming, I'm closing in on 2000 across all my stories. And whoever writes review 2000 will probably get something out of it besides my continued work on this story, but I haven't decided what yet.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Give me Shelter

"You know how to use that thing?" Sarah didn't bother waiting for confirmation. She banked the Aztec and shoved the yoke forward. "Pop flares! Do it now!"

"Working on it," Chuck said. "I don't quite-there we go!"

Kevin had his nose pressed to his window. "I got a missile launch out of a thicket at our seven o'clock."

Sarah grimaced, turned into the launch and cut power. It was a calculated risk; with their counter-measure flares in the air behind them, the infra-red seeker on a standard surface to air missile would lock onto the brightest heat signature. If she'd raised power to try to outrun the missile, it would just have given the thing a bigger target to hit. Turning toward the missile, while counter-intuitive, widened the gap between their aircraft and the flares. It also had the side effect of putting the bulk of the airframe between the seeker and the hot exhaust of their twin engines. The missile shot by so close that Chuck flinched away from the window. The seeker head went for the flares, but the explosion was still close enough that the shockwave made the Aztec lurch a foot in the air.

"Multiple launches!" Kevin announced. "I hope you got some more tricks up your sleeve!"

Sarah cursed. "I see them. Everybody hang on. Chuck, more flares."

"I don't have a million of the things," Chuck said.

"Just keep 'em coming." Sarah tried to maneuver clear, but the truth of the matter was that avoiding the first one had been lucky; dodging three at once would be nearly impossible.

"Come on you piece of crap!" she growled, jinking the craft up. Time seemed to slow down and she watched the missiles coming in on them. At the last moment, she kicked the rudder and banked back the other way. Somehow, miraculously, the first two lost lock entirely and spun after the flares. The twin explosions buffeted the Aztec, and Sarah had to fight for control. The third missile wasn't fooled, flittling straight through the field of burning flares and missile debris. She had no choice but to throttle up; redlining the engines and diving for the treeline below wasn't going to let them outrun the missile, but at least it was better than sitting still. She needed the maneuvering speed after the violent turn that had fooled the first two projectiles.

The third missile exploded less than fifty yards off their starboard wing. Shrapnel peppering the airframe sounded like hail on a tin roof, the right side windows shattered, and Kevin cursed.

"I'm hit," he shouted over the sudden roar of the wind.

Chuck turned, craning his neck. "How bad?"

Owens groaned from behind Chuck.

Kevin cursed again. "Just a scratch, but there's shrapnel right through the prisoner's brisket."

Sarah poked Chuck in the ribs. "Eyes front," she barked. "Find me a place to set down. We aren't going to get far on one engine."

Chuck glanced right and saw, for the first time, that the starboard engine was on fire.

"We're on fire!"

"I know! I'm trying to get it shut down before it explodes. Just keep us going straight for now."

She could see his hands shaking on the yoke, but he kept them level and relatively straight. The trees were looming up below them faster than she wanted, but Sarah didn't think the battered Aztek had much more fight left in it.

After what seemed like a week, she got the starboard engine turned off; they yawed in that direction and Sarah tried to correct with her rudder pedals. She cursed and tried to correct with the yoke. Rudder control was out too.

Chuck pointed. "I see water up ahead, maybe a lake?"

Sarah followed his hand. "Okay I think I can get us there."

"Anybody else worried we're kind of sitting ducks if these guys try to shoot more missiles at us?" Kevin offered from the back seat.

"Okay, Debbie Downer, you got a better idea?" Chuck shot back.

"We're already crippled, why bother? They might get to capture and interrogate us if they just let us land in the swamp," Sarah said.

"Awesome," Kevin muttered darkly, cinched his seatbelt tighter and braced for impact. They just cleared the tops of the last trees, the tips of branches rattled along the bottom of the fuselage, before the clearing opened up beneath them. It was a relatively small lake, but Sarah cut power entirely and they glided into the water about midway down. She pulled up at the last moment so that the impact didn't flip the plane forward onto its roof.

A huge bow-wave surged up around them, blanking the front windscreen for a moment. Water started coming in the ruined starboard windows almost immediately.

Kevin climbed over Owens and wriggled out the window to stand on the wing. Chuck was out of his seatbelt a moment later, turning to get Owens out of his seatbelt and wrestle the wounded man toward Kevin.

The lieutenant grabbed Owens under his armpits and hauled him right out the window. "You need a hand getting out?"

"My seatbelt's stuck," Sarah said. "Get Owens clear!"

The Aztek wasn't exactly watertight before it was raked with shrapnel from a surface-to-air missile, and as they spoke, the cabin was filling with water.

"Chuck, what are you waiting for?" she said. "You too!"

"I'm not leaving you."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I've got it under control," she said, and a knife appeared in her hand. A moment later she had cut herself free. The water was gurgling up around her waist by then, and Chuck offered her a hand.

She took it, and Chuck turned, pushing her toward the shattered window. Sarah wriggled out and spun to help haul him through in turn. Chuck gashed his shoulder on a triangle of glass still clinging to the window frame. He stumbled headlong on the wing and Sarah caught him. The impact knocked them backward off the wing into the lake. Chuck grabbed his wounded shoulder and blood welled up between his fingers.

"Get to shore," Sarah said pushing him in the direction Kevin had taken with the prisoner.

"What about you?"

"The first aid kit and our weapons are in the aft storage trunk," Sarah said. "I don't want that shoulder getting infected. Go!"

She took a quick breath and dove into darkness. Chuck sputtered water out of his mouth from the backsplash and stubbornly tread water in place, waiting for her to come back up. Chuck was getting nervous, and he was moments away from trying to dive down himself and bring Sarah back up, when her head broke the surface. Sarah spit wet hair out of her mouth and glared at him, before thrusting the first aid kit at him and pointing toward the shoreline. The glare brooked no argument, and Chuck began paddling. After a couple dozen yards, his foot touched bottom; he waded the rest of the way out, with the first aid kit tucked under his good arm.

"Good," Kevin called when he spotted the kit, "We're gonna need that." He held up his hands and Chuck tossed it awkwardly one handed. Kevin caught it and started rooting through the contents. He frowned out the corner of his eye. "Where's Sarah?"

"She went back for the MP5s," he explained.

Their heads turned as one toward the sound of a helicopter rotor. Kevin grunted. "Looks like we're going to need those too."

"It could be the good guys," Chuck said.

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? When did you have time to call and tell them we were in trouble? No, those are bad guy choppers; we're on our own." He went back to the first aid kit.

"You think you can save him?"

Kevin shook his head. "Nah, just looking for- yes. Morphine syrettes and smelling salts."

Kevin wafted the tiny bottle under Owens' nose and the man started back to full consciousness. "Oww, frigging bastards what'd you do to me?"

"Don't blame me," Kevin said, "It was your buddies with the Stinger missiles that effed you up. Howabout you tell us about them?"

"Screw you-" Owens said, but then let out a scream.

"Sorry about that," he shrugged. "My hand must've slipped."

"Ease up, Kevin," Chuck said.

Kevin ignored him. "This can go two ways; I can twist the bit of metal sticking in your guts, or I can pump you full of painkillers. Either way you're going to tell me what I want to know. Just depends how much you want it to hurt."

"Kevin!" Chuck said. "Enough!"

The younger man glared at him for a moment. "That chopper's closing in, and they're not going to bother giving you the painless option, Mr. Owens."

"Not telling you a thing," Owens panted.

"Yeah, and I'm sure your buddies will believe you when you say you didn't tell us anything. Eventually," Kevin said. "Save yourself the pain. You're dying anyway, man."

Owens shook his head in denial.

"You want to see what's happened?" Kevin said. "Chuck help me sit him up so he can see his guts hanging out."

Chuck turned slightly green at the thought, and Owens was aware enough now to notice. "That bad?" he croaked.

"Yeah," Kevin said. "come on, I'll make it quick; I got enough morphine to let you go out easy, okay bro?"

"Not much to tell," Owens said.

"Anything you know can help."

"There's not much," Owens said. "The whole operation is compartmentalized. I can give you codenames, that's all."

Gunfire shattered the stillness of the moment, and Chuck's head whipped around. Sarah was still waist deep in the lake, firing a submachinegun up into the air.

"Go, go, go!" she shouted, a moment before the background noise of the heliopter swelled nearly deafening.

Kevin grabbed Chuck and dove for cover; he crawled forward on his elbows and peered over a fallen log, before he drew his pistol.

The helicopter had stopped over the lake, and was hovering side-on to Sarah, so that the man in the back could draw a bead with a scoped assault rifle. The rotor-wash from the helicopter made tiny rippling waves spread across the lake. Kevin grimaced and sighted carefully, resting the barrel of his 45 on the log. It was well out of standard pistol range, at least a hundred fifty yards. Probably more, since Kevin's trig was rusty, and he had to take elevation into account. He aimed well high and squeezed off two rounds. The first clanged off the rotor and the second missed high. He was overcompensating for bullet drop.

Kevins next six rounds were more or less on target, but the distance was great enough they did little more than distract the pilot. That was plenty, and the helicopter's doorgunner missed wide with his first long burst.

Sarah waded hurriedly out of the lake, turning every few paces to toss a quick three round burst over her shoulder.

Kevin reloaded and sent another half mag of 45 caliber rounds up at the helicopter to cover her retreat.

Chuck jumped up and grabbed her by the collar, hauling her down behind the logs a moment before another long burst of fire from the helicopter threw wood chips and clods of dirt up.

"Anybody hit?" Kevin asked.

"I'm fine," Sarah said, "here, heads up Woodcomb!"

He turned and dropped his 45 in favor of an MP5. Sarah thrust another weapon toward Chuck, and rolled over to sling her pack toward Kevin. "I got the vests too, both of you vest up, then we need to get out of the open." Chuck realized that Sarah was already decked out in her FBI-emblazoned body armor, and wondered momentarily how she'd managed to put the thing on while treading water.

Kevin palmed the bolt back on his weapon and chambered a round. "Chopper's coming around again. Stay down." The MP5 had a longer barrel than his pistol, but not very much so; his main concern was still the long range, though the helicopter was moving closer to allow the machinegunner a better angle. Sarah popped up and sprayed the last of her magazine at the approaching chopper. Her aim was true, but the heavy windscreen of the helicopter was proof against the light pistol rounds her SMG fired. She plopped back down into cover cursing softly and changing focus to make sure Chuck had his vest on.

Kevin waited, lining up his shot patiently; when the helicopter turned broadside to them again to give the door gunner a clear shot, Kevin was ready. He beat the airborne gunner to the trigger, loosing a three round burst, and his experience trying to gauge the range with a pistol served him well. The gunner screamed and pitched forward out the side of the aircraft. His tether stopped him from falling free, though he lost his grip on his rifle, which tumbled into the lake with a splash. Kevin wasn't finished, shifting aim even as the gunman tumbled from his seat.

His thumb flicked the selector switch forward from three round burst to fully automatic, and he hosed the aft quarter of the chopper with 9mm rounds.

The pilot had come too far down, and the craft shuddered and sideslipped awkwardly; Kevin had managed to damage the tail rotor. The pilot tried to compensate, but he had too little altitude left in which to stabilize his flight. The helicopter turned back, nearly a full 180 before splashing down hard into the shallows of the lake. It hit bottom with only a third of the canopy under water and bounced. The rotor slapped short waves into the surface briefly as the craft came back up and turned on its side. The rotor blades snapped off and went spinnning away, adding to the roar and tumult of the crash.

Kevin scooped up his dropped 45 before he stood and calmly ejected the spent magazine from his MP5. "There'll be more where they came from," he said. "We need to disappear."

Sarah looked up from reloading her weapon, and grimaced. She dug in her pack and tossed him a spare magazine. "Last one. Make 'em count."

Kevin nodded and headed back over to Owens. A stray bullet had hit him in the throat; he stilled even as Kevin stood over him.

"So much for our best lead."

Chuck and Sarah joined him a moment later; Chuck bent and closed the dead man's eyes. Sarah tugged his sleeve to pull him away. "Come on, Chuck, we've got to move, now." In the distance they could hear the sound of a second helicopter coming to investigate the twin plumes of smoke and steam from the crashed Aztec and the Ring scout chopper.

* * *

><p>Sarah disinfected and bandaged Chuck's shoulder and Kevin's forearm as they trudged deeper into the swamp. Their electronics had all been disabled in the crash and subsequent swim in the lake, and none of them had thought to bring canteens or survival gear. None of them had a compass, and checking which side of the trees moss grew on proved fruitless; the trees were choked by a uniform layer of the stuff. For all they knew, they were moving every minute further from civilization and potential rescue.<p>

But that was a secondary concern. Foremost of their worries was the Ring pursuit. Chuck and Sarah and Kevin were on foot, while the Ring had helicopters. Kevin's wilderness survival skills learned during his army training helped, but they needed every edge they could find. Instead of sticking to the relatively spongy ground, they risked wading the snake and crocodile infested water, so as to avoid leaving tracks for their pursuers to follow. The water was _cold _though, and they couldn't say in for long periods of time. It was a warm day for November, so they weren't in danger of hypothermia, but the cold dulled their reaction times and sapped their energy. Between the three of them they had roughly a hundred rounds of ammunition of various calibers, not nearly enough for a prolonged firefight of any kind if they were discovered.

"How did they know where to hit us?" Chuck said after a half-hour slog. Kevin frowned and set aside his weapon so he could rub his hands along his chest to warm himself.

"Good question. Maybe a tracer on Owens?"

"I was thinking about that," Sarah said. She let her eyes fall half-closed in pleasure at the warmth Chuck's hands were sending through her. "Seems like that's the simplest answer. If they'd had physical coverage on Owens they could have converged on us before we got him to the plane."

"Still," Chuck said, "They organized this whole thing with the SAM teams and helicopter gunships awful fast."

Sarah nodded. "Yeah... could be this was a trap."

"Wouldn't Owens have tried to use that to bargain for his life?" Kevin said.

"If he knew," Chuck said with a grimace; he and Sarah had switched off warming-up duties, and her hand had caught momentarily at his bandage. "Sure he would have. They keep everything compartmentalized, remember?"

"Awesome," Kevin said.

After only a few minutes back in the water, Sarah froze. "Shh," Sarah put her hand up, signalling a halt. Chuck's single step before he complied sloshed the water, sending ripples spreading outward. "Chuck. Do. Not. Move. Kevin, you see what I see?"

He stiffened visibly. "Yeah."

"What is it?" Chuck said. Sarah sushed him again.

"Stay still," Kevin said. "I got this."

"You sure?" Sarah's hand crept to the pistol at the small of her back, and she shifted the bulkier smg on its sling to her back.

Kevin shook his head slowly. "More the merrier. On three?"

Chuck very gingerly raised his hand. "What do I do on three?"

"Dive as far as you can to your left."

"I'll just push off from that log then?"

"No. Don't do that," Sarah said. "That isn't a log."

Chuck blinked and squinted. "Oh, hell," he muttered; the log was radiating its own set of ripples in the water.

"Three!" Kevin shouted. He and Sarah moved at almost the same instant that the log hissed and opened jaws nearly a foot wide. Chuck lurched away. Kevin flicked open his folding knife and stabbed downward, smashing the jaw back down. He hauled upward on the alligator's lower jaw and held on for dear life. Chuck's heart hammered in his chest. Sarah came out with her S&W 9mm, jamming the muzzle into the giant lizard's eye and squeezing off a pair of rounds. The creature twitched and thrashed for a few moments before it went still.

They stood around the dead gator as it floated belly up, panting air back into their lungs.

"Anybody hurt?" Sarah said. "Chuck?"

He got his breathing back under contol. "I'm fine."

"We need to move, if they heard the gunshots the Ring could be converging on us as we speak," Sarah said.

"Can we take a moment to marvel at the fact you two just killed a huge-ass alligator like it was another day at the office?"

"Crocodile," Kevin corrected, and gingerly pulled the head above the surface of the water. "You can tell because of the triangular shape of the jaw, see?" Chuck and Sarah stared at him wordlessly. "What? Now I'm the only one on the team watches the National Geographic Channel?"

* * *

><p>Eluding their pursuers became more difficult after that, helicopters were overhead, disturbing the canopy above them. If they were caught out in the open during a flyover, they were all but finished. Kevin began to take the lead, since he had more wilderness experience than Chuck or Sarah. For more than two hours they alternated wading through thigh and hip deep brackish water and huddling in the mud along the shore as motionlessly as they could. Chuck's bandages had soaked through during the 'croc incident', and they had to be replaced.<p>

The day wore on and the constant in and out of the water began to take its toll. Chuck's conditioning was better than it had been in years, but he felt himself slowing. Even Sarah and Kevin were near exhaustion by the time the sun started dipping toward the horizon.

"We need to find someplace to stay the night, that we can defend if we have to," Sarah said. Desperation had begun to color her tone.

Kevin shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "They might call off the pursuit if we can elude them til nightfall. Or at least postpone if they didnt bring NVGs. Staying in one place is a bad idea."

"We're not going to be able to tell the difference between logs and crocodiles if we keep going much longer," Chuck pointed out.

Kevin shrugged. He didn't have an answer for that.

"Okay, we keep moving," Sarah said, "but everybody have your eyes peeled for any kind of shelter."

It wasn't by any means perfect, but the three trudged on in the waning sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves above them. It had been more than half an hour since they heard a helicopter overhead. "Maybe they gave up, like you said."

"Maybe," Kevin said, but he sounded unconvinced. "But I haven't seen anyplace to spend a night where we could be sure to be up and out of this muck, have you? We need to keep going."

Sarah was frowning off into the underbrush again. Chuck had begun cueing off his wife's reactions ever since the 'croc incident.' He briefly wondered if that was how it would go into report when this was all over. God, he hoped this would be over soon. "What do you see?"

She held up a hand for quiet and switched on the flashlight built-in under her MP5 barrel. "Hey, careful, you'll give us away!" Kevin hissed.

Sarah shook her head and ignored him, playing her flashlight along a stand of trees a hundred yards or so off their previous line of travel.

Kevin saw the flash and ducked into cover with his back to a nearby tree. He peered around the truck a moment later, curious that there hadn't been an accompanying gunshot.

The light was steady now, the light was a reflection from Sarah's gun-mounted flash in a pane of glass, not another point-source.

Kevin flashed Sarah a hand signal she nearly missed in the twilight gloom, and shouldered his weapon. Sarah motioned for Chuck to follow, and the three planewrecked spies went to investigate.

Chuck was the first to breathe a sigh of relief when the mysterious pane of glass turned out to belong to a small log cabin, so overgrown with moss that it had blended nearly seamlessly with the darkening swamp.

Chuck grabbed the back of Sarah's FBI vest and hauled her backwards to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Nice catch, Sarah."

She grinned and patted his arm.

Kevin went ahead and knocked on the door softly. When there was no answer he announced himself as a Federal Agent before he nudged the door open gently with the muzzle of his MP5. It was a simple one room cabin, and dust covered most surfaces a quarter inch thick. Nobody had been through here in a while.

He ducked back outside and shook his head. "Deserted," he said. "Somebody sweep the outside; I'll see if I can get the stove started."

The windows turned out to be covered up on the inside with aluminum foil, so they wouldn't have to worry about firelight giving them away.

Chuck and Sarah headed around opposite sides of the cabin, and it was Sarah who found it. She whistled softly, and Chuck hurried around to her. "You find something good?" he said.

Sarah grinned.

"You could say that," she said, gesturing expansively and throwing wide a the wooden door of a ramshackle tin-roofed boathouse. Inside was an air-boat, helpfully kept out of the elements by its owner when he'd abandoned the cabin.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So, I'm trying out a new format for author's notes, and just putting them all at the end here. Insert witty/snarky remark.

Keep those review comments coming, and I'll try to be better about responding to them. I really appreciate any input I can get.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

"Here goes nothing," Chuck said.

Sarah grabbed his sleeve before he could finish stepping into the boat. "Check for snakes first, Chuck," she clicked on her underbarrel flashlight, and lit up the depression under the bench seats. There were no snakes, but it was a good point.

"What would I do without you?"

"Apparently, you'd get bit by snakes and eaten by alligators, not necessarily in that order."

"Crocodile," Chuck corrected. Sarah blew a raspberry into her hand. "Real mature."

"You think it'll run?"

"One way to find out. Hang on, let me figure out where the keys are," Chuck shrugged. "We may have to hotwire this thing. Unless... the owner left the keys on the seat. How thoughtful."

Sarah held her mp5 overhead to shine the light around the interior of the boathouse. The window here were papered over as well, so she wasn't too worried about the light giving them away.

"I think the ignition is under the seat," she said.

"I knew that," Chuck said. He turned the key and there was a kind of dull clunk. And that was all. "Well. I guess it's not so much thoughtful as he is messing with us by leaving the keys."

"Can you fix it?"

"Computers are more my speed. If it's an electrical problem, though, I might be able to rig up something," he shook his head. "But I'm going to need, like tools and stuff."

"And stuff?"

Chuck pulled at his soaked clothes. "Well, a cup of hot cocoa would do wonders right about now."

Sarah slung her weapon onto her back and crossed her arms. "What am I, a waitress now?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "I meant, we should both have some. Maybe there's something in the cabin?"

Kevin was huddled in front of the stove when they arrived, heating a pot of something. "Oh, god, is that coffee?" Sarah groaned.

"Eventually, yes it is," he grinned over his shoulder at them. The cabin was pretty run down, and Kevin had made tracks in the dust. "Found a can of coffee grounds and a jar of beef jerky. Well, I'm assuming it's beef. Could be crocodile for all I know. Anyway, that's about it for food. Except there's a locked door down to a root cellar or something."

"Did you try to flash and pick the lock?"

"With what? A spoon?"

Sarah tossed him her lockpick set and hauled a rough wooden stool close to the stove, holding out her hands to warm them. With the sun setting, the temperature was falling quickly, and they were still cold from their day wading through the swamp.

Kevin headed toward the locked door at the back of the cabin. "Jerky is on the table."

Chuck grabbed the jar and went to town. He moved back over to Sarah and offered her some while Kevin fumbled with the lockpicks.

"Uh. So, yeah, the whole flashing thing isn't working?" Kevin said. Chuck handed off the jerky jar and went over to help, rubbing his arms to stay warm.

"You flashed before, didn't you?" Chuck said, "Back at the club last night, I mean."

Yeah, but I wasn't _trying _to flash. How do I force a flash?"

"It's tricky, I'll admit. I've found a fear response to be most effective for triggering the skill flashes."

"Right," Kevin said. He held the torsion wrench and the pick in his fists. "So, I'm supposed to be _afraid _of the lockpicks?"

"How about you pretend somebody's got a gun to your head and they'll shoot you if you don't pick the lock?"

"Why wouldn't I just knock the gun away and stab them in the throat with this pointy-bit on the what's this called?"

"Torsion wrench," Sarah called, "And it's too flimsy. It'll bend unless you manage to pop open the jugular right away. You're better off going with a palm strike."

Chuck stared at his wife for a moment. "I forget sometimes that we have wildly different ways of approaching the challenges life. Okay, forget about the gun. No gun. And no makeshift stabbing weapons. Pretend there's a bomb on the other side of the door, and you have to unlock the door to get at the bomb and defuse it."

"Okay, and why can't I just shoot the lock off?"

"Because the Ring guys looking for us with helicopters right now would hear the gunshot? Or did I confuse you with my hypothetical, trying to get you to flash scenario?"

"Right. Okay, I'll give it a try," he said. Kevin stared at the torsion wrench fixedly.

"If you want, I can try," Chuck said, earning himself a glare.

Kevin turned back to his borrowed lockpicks and the flash came over him. He blinked and turned to the lock; his fingers worked almost of their own volition and in seconds he had the lock undone. "Ow," he clutched at his head when he was done.

"Hey, it worked!" Chuck said and patted Kevin on the back.

"No, I wasn't afraid. I just wanted to punch you, and then I flashed."

"So, anger is your trigger emotion. That's... fun."

"Should I be worried about these headaches?"

"Are you kidding? I had a full-blown six-hour migraine after my first flash. You're doing great."

Kevin sighed. "Okay, let's see what's in the cellar."

"Hopefully its more than just roots."

"Or snakes," Kevin pulled the door open, slung his MP5 out and flicked on the attached flashlight.

"Why'd it have to be snakes. I hate snakes."

"Really?"

"I was quoting Indiana Jones, and no. Morgan had a boa constrictor growing up,so I'm kind of numb to snakes."

Kevin padded down a handful of wooden stairs into a small chamber built out of cinder blocks. Cases of canned goods lined one wall, along with a couple six packs of 20 oz Cokes. Fishing tackle and assorted rods and reels took up one corner. The ceiling was low enough that he had to walk crouched over. There was a toolbox laying open near a gas space heater in the center of the room, and a pile of sleeping bags along the wall. Except for the lack of electrical lighting, it was a fairly decent bomb shelter, and might serve them well if they had to fight a defensive action. He caught a glint of light reflecting from his flashlight and grinned, duckwalking over toward several 50-gallon fuel drums. "What did you find?"

"Rifle case, tucked in behind, looks like," he said over his shoulder as he worked buckles. "Give me some more light?" Chuck got his flashlight working after a moment. "Don't keep me in suspense."

Kevin shook his head and shaded his eyes from the glare of the flashlight. "It's a .22. Still, better than nothing and-" he squinted into the far corner. "I think he's got an archery set back here. It is!" Kevin turned, brandishing the bow, and his grin turned into a frown. "You alright, Chuck?"

He came out of the flash with a grin of his own. "A bow, huh? I can work with that."

* * *

><p>Sarah poked her head into the boathouse where Chuck was working on the air-boat half an hour later. "Any luck so far?"<p>

"I think it's this bit that's the problem," Chuck said.

"The bit that's in your hand, and no longer in the engine where it belongs?"

"Yes. This might take longer than I thought."

"I'll bring you some food, then." When she got back to the cabin, Kevin had the .22 out and disassembled, along with a roll of duct tape.

"This doesn't look promising," Sarah said.

"I got an idea," Kevin explained. "You mind going down and grabbing me that six-pack from the basement?"

Sarah shrugged. "Bottle supressor? I thought that was an urban legend."

"Nah they work okay for a few shots," he said. "That was my idea. I'm going to use the cap as an anchor so I can switch them out when I need to. Plus this guy's got a couple boxes of subsonic .22 rimfire. It's a semi-auto, and the optics are pretty good. I could do some damage with this thing with the right sniper hide."

"That's a relief. Chuck doesn't even have a time frame on getting the air-boat fixed. It probably wouldn't be safe to try and drive it out of here in the dark anyway."

"They're going to find this place eventually."  
>"Probably before we could safely get out of here," Sarah said. "I know."<p>

"You haven't told him, have you?"

"That we're probably going to be captured and killed in the next couple hours? No. I haven't told him."

"The brave front isn't going to work forever. He's a smart guy, probably already figured it out, what with the way he glommed onto the bow and arrows. We can make it out of this, but only if we work together. Keeping things from each other isn't going to help."

"You really think that?"

"Poor communications have killed more soldiers than anything else," Kevin started reassembling the rifle.

"I meant the making it out of here part."

Kevin nodded as he snapped the barrel back into the upper receiver. "I'm not saying it won't get bloody."

Sarah heaved a sigh. "Chuck's not going to take that well."

"Has he ever actually killed anyone?" Kevin palmed the bolt back and examined the chamber.

"No," Sarah said. "He thinks so, but they lived. He couldn't bring himself to look into it, so I did."

"You should tell him that too," Kevin said.

"What are you, a marriage counselor all of a sudden?"

"Once I'm done in here, I'm going to go set up some strings of cans as early warning. If I spot somebody I'll shoot the roof."

"You'll what?"

He pointed. "The ridge at the top is half-inch corrugated steel. It'll stop a subsonic .22 no problem. Probably sound like a tiny gong."

"Let me get you those bottles," Sarah said.

* * *

><p>"Chuck, we need to talk," Sarah said. She set the plate of canned beefaroni on the edge of the air-boat's hull.<p>

"Can it wait, I think this thing—yes, victory!"

"You fixed it?"

"No, I figured out what's really wrong this time."

"Chuck, we need to talk."

He levered himself up from under the bench seats and dusted his hands off on his shirt. "What is it?"

"This place," she said. "Finding it didn't change anything. It's probably the best defensive position we're going to find, but even if you fix the air-boat, we're pretty much screwed."

"What are you talking about? I'll get this thing working and we're out of here."

"In the dark? We'd crash. I talked with Kevin, and he agrees with me. We've got the beginnings of a plan, but it'll probably get us all killed."

Chuck pressed his lips together. "I know. I just didn't want to admit it. What the hell went wrong? This was supposed to be a simple surveillance mission."

"It's not important now," Sarah said. "If we somehow manage to live through this and get back home, then we worry about what went wrong."

Chuck finally saw the plate and scooped it up. He paused with the plastic camping spork at his mouth. "Okay, tell me about this plan."

"You're right, it'll probably get us all killed, but I can't fault the logic," Chuck said. He sat on the edhe of the dock and set aside the plate, empty save for smears of sauce. "But, I've got a note, if you're interested."

"Sure, fire away," Sarah said. He told her, and her eyebrows went up. "That's... certainly novel. It could even work."

"How long do we have before they track us down? I can actually probably get the air-boat fixed in another twenty minutes or so, if you help out. If your plan works, we could probably use it to put some extra distance between us and the Ring."

"What would that entail," Sarah said, glancing dubiously at the seemingly half-disassembled engine.

"Well, you remember the piece I had pulled out earlier?" Chuck said, and went on when she nodded. "It was the starter motor; the solenoid switch is faulty, so I've kind of been fiddling with that while I make sure the rest of the engine is in working order."

"You know that kind of stuff?"

Chuck tapped the side of his head, in what had become kind of their short-hand for 'I flashed on it', and Sarah's expression grew concerned. "How many is that today?"

"No more than I get from the intelligence dailies, why?"

"Is the Governor waterproof?" Sarah said. "I'm worried you'll turn your brain into soup. You _need_ your brains, Chuck."

"It's waterproof," Chuck said. "I checked that right after my dad first gave it to me. I wish my cell phone was waterproof."

Sarah's lips thinned briefly, holding in a chuckle. "Yeah, that would come in handy. So, are you going to teach me how to reassemble an engine now?"

"I would, but I don't really know any of the names of the parts. Except, I'm pretty sure this is the engine block, and this is called a piston. Everything else, your guess is as good as mine."

"You knew about starter motors and stuff?"

"I've seen enough of those building robots in junior high."

Sarah eyed her husband askance; she was always learning something new about him. She hid the shock with a smile. "You built robots?"

"Yeah, for— we were trying to join one of those robot fighting leagues, but I was doing all the work while Morgan played Nintendo and drank grape soda. So we never got our entries in on deadline," Chuck worked while he talked, and Sarah realized he'd managed to memorize the order in which he'd removed every single part. "Hand me that three-eights wrench?"

Sarah glanced at the greasy hand towel where he had laid out the tools. She let her hand hover over the tools and raised an eyebrow. "This one?"

Chuck peeked out from under the bench. "That's the pipe wrench. I'll need that later. Far end of the layout, it's one of the little ones."

She leaned over once she'd retrieved the proper wrench and snaked her hand into his reach. "So, anyway, robot fighting? That's a thing? Like Rock-em Sock-em Robots?"

"No, no. These, are really more like giant armored RC cars with weapons attached. Phillips screwdriver?"

"That's the plus-sign looking one, right?"

"Right."

"You still have any of them?"

"No, I think they were up in the attic of the old house; I don't know what happened to them after dad disappeared. Why so interested? It's probably the nerdiest thing about me you weren't already aware of."

"I don't know," Sarah said softly. "Chuck?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Why don't you ask about those sort of things from my past?"

Chuck stopped working for a moment. "Well... The first real thing I found out about you, you threw a pencil across the room into a picture of my face."

"Okay. And I remember your speech about not needing to know who I was to know who I am. But, I've borne you a child since then, remember?"

"I don't want to push."

Sarah couldn't help but shake her head. "Sometimes I need you to."

"And sometimes you'll throw things?"

Her mouth turned up just the fainted bit at the corner. "Naturally."

"But not knives please? At least not in the house."

"I make no promises. Although, definitely no throwing knives around the kids until they're ten or twelve, so you've got a pretty large window to safely ask about anything you want."

"Kids?"

Sarah shrugged. "If we get out of this alive, I'm still expecting at least four."

Chuck grinned and wriggled back under the bench seat to continue his work. "If we make it out of this alive, we need to lay down the law with Beckman and Myers. We said no missions, and we're not following through on it. If we keep knuckling under like this every time, we'll end up going on missions 'til we're 60. Ow! Damn it!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so, I just the banged my cut shoulder on something."

"Let me take a look," Sarah said.

"It's fine."

"Uh-huh. I'll be the judge of that. Come on."

"We don't really have time for you to worry about my shoulder. I need to finish up with the air-

boat."

"Charles Irving Bartowski, if you let your shoulder get infected you could lose the arm entirely," Sarah said in her no-nonsense voice, and Chuck sighed.

"What difference will that make if I don't get our getaway boat ready to go?"

"Fine!" Sarah growled. "I'll be in the cabin when you come to your senses."

She didnt quite slam the boat-house door-she was still wary enough of how far sharp noises like that could travel-but it was close.

Chuck paused his work and peered out from under the bench seat. "I just screwed up badly somewhere, didn't I?" he asked the empty room. He considered knuckling under immediately, going after her and fixing whatever it was he'd said to upset her, but they _were _going to need the air-boat running if they stood any chance of making it back alive. If having his wife upset with him was the price he had to pay to see her safe, he'd pay it every time. The only problem with that line of thought was that he couldn't imagine it'd be the only price. His fingers worked threading the fuel line back into place. That was just about the only good news lately; there were half a dozen drums of gas in the boathouse in addition to the ones in the basement for the space heater. They could probably drive this airboat all the way to Cuba if they managed to elude discovery til morning.

That wasn't likely either, though. They would be found tonight, probably soon. Time was slipping away while he worked to get the boat engine back together. He hadn't let himself dwell on the reality of the situation. If he had any hope of getting home, seeing his daughter again, they would have to fight. The Ring had at least one team looking for them. Maybe, probably, more than one. He would have to fight. There were no tranq guns; he would have to kill, to see him and Sarah through this. There was no standing aside. And that knowledge didn't shake him to the core as it had before. Chuck's hands paused in their work. Why was that? Why didn't the thought of killing these men fill him with the same dread and self-loathing he'd felt that first time? But no, it hadn't been until after, when he'd had time to think that he'd begun to feel so wretched.

In the moment, with Ring troopers storming in the front door of their house in Clarkdale, his only concerns had been the safety of Sarah and his unborn daughter. He let out a long sigh. Would he kill to protect his family, to see his daughter again? Was it ever really a question?

Chuck looked down at the engine and frowned. He held the last part, the starter motor, in his hand. The rest was finished. How had that happened? Had he flashed again, or was it simply the distraction of his swirling maudlin thoughts? Chuck tested the repair he'd made to the solenoid and finished the repairs. He couldn't risk starting the engine, since the noise would travel and maybe give away their position. He scanned the interior of the boathouse and his eyes fell on a pair of oars. His knees creaked as he stood, and glanced at his watch; barely fifteen minutes had passed since Sarah had stormed out. He set the oars in the boat and went back into the cabin.

Sarah looked up as soon as he entered, and she knew at once he could tell she'd been crying. She set aside the bow and arrows. "Finally," she said. "I forgot how stubborn you could be. How much more work do you still have on the air-boat?"

"It's done," Chuck said. He came over to where she was sitting on one of the ratty sleeping bags from the basement. The single cot in the corner of the small cabin was missing a mattress, and even with a sleeping bag on it, the thing was probably a tetanus shot waiting to happen. Chuck sank down to his knees next to her, and Sarah scrubbed the heel of her hand across her cheek. "I"m sorry I made you cry."

She shook her head. "It's not you," she heard herself say. Sarah pulled his uninjured arm and got him to sit next to her. "I just. You kind of missed the signals back there, and I didn't think we'd have time to do anything if you fixed the boat first."

"That's why you got mad at me?" He seemed shocked. "I thought you wanted to make sure my shoulder wasn't infected."

"I still do. But it's called pretext, Chuck. Get your shirt off and have an excuse to feel you up... One thing leads to another, and bone city."

Chuck snorted. "That's a new one on me," he managed to say. Sarah grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sure we've talked about this: how we don't need complicated stratagems any more for that kind of thing?"

"Yeah, you say that, but every time I tell you flat out I want to make love, you spit coffee everywhere, or do that thing where you can't talk for twenty seconds."

"Well, yeah." They sat side by side on the sleeping bag for a long moment, maybe ten or fifteen seconds. "But is now really the time?"

"Chuck," Sarah said, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of her voice. "What other time do we have?"

"Oh, you sweet talker, you."

"Just take off your pants."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Sarah cocked her head to one side. "Less talking, more stripping."

* * *

><p>They didn't have time to savor what might be their last time, and almost no time to cuddle after. Sarah stood to tug her pants back on. "Where'd Kevin go?" He'd had other things on his mind before.<p>

"He's out keeping watch," she said. "Also, I paid him a dollar to give us some alone time."

"Really?" Chuck raised an eyebrow.

"Money well spent," she said as she sat to do up her bootlaces. "Okay, now let me check your shoulder."

"I think we already checked that... you know, earlier. Full range of motion and everything."

Sarah rolled her eyes, and began peeling off the gauze. She winced as soon as the wound was exposed. "Damn it, I told you to stop using your arms so much," she said, reaching for the first aid kit. "You tore it open again. And it looks like it _is_ getting infected. Here take the rest of the penicillin."

Chuck sighed and took the pills. Sarah's first aid kit never failed to surprise. She retrieved a suture kit and Chuck flinched backward. "Oh no, no needles! It's not that bad, I don't need stitches do I? That seems a little extreme. I mean it's not even that deep. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Sarah pursed her lips and then shrugged and put away the needles. A moment later, she came out with a packet of tiny butterfly bandages to help hold the wound shut. "Whoa, what's that for?" Chuck protested when she produced a small tube of something.

"Superglue,' she explained, "was originally designed as a battlefield suture."

"Oh, so no needles. Yay..." he tried to sound enthused, but sticking superglue into an open wound just seemed messy and unsanitary. A small gong sounded, up in the rafters, and Chuck turned to look. "What was that?"

"Get dressed," Sarah went to the window and peeled down a corner of the aluminum foil masking the windows. She clicked the flashlight attachment on her mp5 twice, and received a quick coded response. "They're here. Coming in from the east. Hurry up, we don't have a lot of time."

Chuck tugged his shirt on over his head and scooped up the bow and quiver of arrows. Sarah put out her hand. "It's okay, I flashed."

"Okay, pull the string back."

"Sure. I don't see what the big deal is-ow! Son of a biscuit!" Chuck clutched at his wounded shoulder and let Sarah take the bow and arrows from him. "How much time do we have?"

"Five minutes on the clock," she said.

Chuck nodded and set the timer on his watch, pulled it from his wrist and tossed it down into the basement. "Five minutes," he agreed. Sarah thrust an mp5 with a makeshift silencer affixed to the barrel in his direction, and he slung it over his shoulder without hesitation.

They slipped into the boathouse and into the water, nudging the air-boat along ahead of them. Once it was fully out of the door, they took up station along the west-facing side of the air-boat to mask them from the approaching commandos.

* * *

><p>The team was spread out across a couple hundred yards of swampland in a kind of staggered line, so that no single burst of fire or grenade could take down more than one of them. It would take at least a dozen well aimed individual shots to take them all down, and their quarry numbered only three. Team two was a couple miles to the south, in position to back them up should they make contact.<p>

Petersen was on the far northern edge of the line, with twenty meters between him and his nearest teammate. It was a small thing, maybe just one of those woodland night sounds, a rustle of underbrush from wildlife, but his team lead was also the operation commander. He keyed his throat microphone. "Six, this is Petersen. I think i heard something to my north."

The answer came back almost instantly. "Petersen, this is Six. Investigate immediately. Montcrief, cover him."

Montcrief sent a double click of his microphone to acknowledge the order.

Petersen passed his night-vision goggles over the swamp to his north. He looked down constantly, to make certain of his footing in the mud. Moving quietly was difficult. The squelch of every footstep set his nerves jangling. His goggles were uncomfortable and he always got headaches if he used them too long. He went another fifty yards, stepping over a suspicious-looking log, but found nothing. He shook his head and turned back. "My imagination," he keyed into his microphone. Fifty yards away Montcrief nodded and turned back to return to the formation. He went back the way he'd come, and as he stepped over the log, a hand came out of nowhere, setting his goggles askew. The hand clamped over his mouth and darkness swallowed him.

Kevin cradled the dead man so that the noise was muffled as he set his victim down in the mud. First thing, even before he removed the knife from the dead Ring agent's cervical spine, he pulled the radio earpiece and fitted it into his own ear. There was no immediate outcry over the radio, so the first man's death had gone unremarked. That was a relief. In the almost total darkness, he'd only been able to make out shapes, but he'd guessed right. The next man in line had his back turned, hadn't heard the-very brief-struggle. Next, Kevin swiped the dead man's NVGs. That was an advantage and a force multiplier nearly beyond compare, but not without its limitations. As Kevin had just proved. He was soaked to his skin, covered in mud and bits of broken-off branches. The camouflage had been easy enough, after he'd flashed on the subject. Remaining motionless once he'd spotted them was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He had nearly had a heart attack when the nearest man heard the firing pin of his small-caliber rifle snap forward.

It had been dumb luck that the man hadn't spotted the side-lobe of light from his flashlight when he'd signaled Chuck and Sarah back in the cabin. He wasn't worried about muzzle flashes, since he'd taken the precaution of wrapping his bottle suppressor in duct tape, and then smeared mud over that to deaden any reflection.

And then the Ring agent had nearly stepped on him. Once going out and once coming back. Must have thought he was a log. There was a lot of that going around. It wasn't even really the dead man's fault; Kevin knew the resolution on goggles like these wasn't perfect, and they would get artifacting sometimes. And even electrically enhanced, the human eye was drawn to movement in the dark more than anything. His only defense was motionlessness. Or had been. With his newfound vision enhancers, he spotted the strobe on the man's tactical vest the Ring was using to avoid friendly fire. He un-clipped the man's tactical vest, and shrugged into it. He discarded the bottle-suppressed mp5 and took up the man's m4 assault rifle. he'd want his profile to be correct if any of the Ring agents glanced in his direction. The man he'd killed was wearing light body armor, good enough to stop a pistol round and Kevin was still sorely outnumbered. He couldn't risk removing the kevlar vest, since it was secured by velcro. The distinctive sound of the tabs ripping apart would be suspicious. He'd just raised his odds of survival considerably, and saw no reason to take two steps back for every two forward, the song notwithstanding.

With the goggles he could make out the skirmish line the Ring team was using, and he fell into the dead man's position in the line, fighting a grin. They'd never see him coming. Well, actually, they would, but that was the point. Then he realized he'd just opened himself up to friendly fire from Chuck and Sarah. Fighting the grin suddenly became much easier.

Kevin glanced at his watch. They should have spotted the cabin by now, unless Chuck and Sarah had forgotten to strip the foil off the windows before they left. As if on cue, a voice came over his captured radio earpiece. "I've got lights in a window up ahead, Six."

"Okay, let"s check it out. Four men hang back and keep overwatch." Kevin grunted. Command was taking no chances, which made Kevin's life more difficult this time. Still as they approached the cabin, Kevin hung back. "Is that a boat?" someone said. The commander whispered for communications discipline, telling off a pair of men to check the boat instead of the cabin. Kevin checked his watch one more time. More than five minutes had passed since he'd signalled to Sarah in the cabin. Where the hell was-

He tore the goggles off his face just in time. The cabin exploded in a painful blast of light and sound, the fuel tanks lending the twin balls of flame to the spectacle. He'd been expecting it, so the flare of the rocket motor gave him enough warning. The Ring agents ahead of him and strung out in a long line to his left weren't so lucky. He'd been a little miffed to discover they had a predator drone nobody had bothered to tell him about, circling the signal from Chuck's watch. Its utility was hampered by the way Beckman had set things up. If they'd had a proper uplink to the thing, they could have waited until the commandos were inside searching the cabin, and taken most of the team in one stroke.

Still, only seconds after the explosion, he had his borrowed m4 on line with the Ring agent closest him. He squeezed off a three round burst into the man's back at a range of just under twenty yards. To Kevin fair play meant perhaps a different thing than it did to Chuck.

Chaos erupted. Kevin ducked down next to a tree trunk. Poking the barrel around the tree, he left off half a dozen bursts. It thoroughly gave away his position, and the Ring began returning fire with good discipline, despite being temporarily blinded and disoriented by the flash of the explosion. He risked peeking his goggles around the bole of his cover-tree and then flinched back. Bullets tore into the tree. Kevin dropped to the ground and set aside the captured assault rifle. The 22 was better for this kind of fight. He found the strobe and pulled it free of his vest, tossed it around the tree. A moment later it jumped in the air, bullet impacts churning up the wet soil around it. Kevin rolled out, his bottle suppressor was still good for a few shots. Four or five of the Ring commandos were already down, two with feathered arrow-shafts in their chests. As he lined up a shot on the nearest agent two more went down, to an arrow and a burst of gunfire. The sound was lost in the clamor of the surviving Ring agents' weapons. Kevin opened up with the 22, and in another thirty seconds it was over.

"Check fire," Kevin said. "I'm coming out."

"Give me a name." Sarah's voice rang out.

"It's me, Kevin. I think we got 'em."

With his goggles back in place, Kevin scanned the ambush site to make sure all eleven of them were accounted for. They hadn't picked up on the ruse with the strobes, apparently. He counted four men down to arrows now, plua the three he was sure he'd killed. Two others must have fallen to Sarah's mp5. He guessed that archery skill flash was no joke. The tally was right, but one was still moving. Kevin came over, weapon aimed at the wounded man's face. He stepped on the man's wrist, pinning the man's hastily drawn sidearm down harmlessly.

"Great. What do we do with you?" Kevin muttered. Almost instinctively, he yanked the man's radio away and threw it into a brackish puddle of swamp water nearby. "We got a live one."

His captive chuckled, and coughed blood. "Not for long." The man's other hand was pressed to his side, and he peeled it away for a moment to demonstrate, shuddered and pressed his hand back. In the second he'd released the pressure, blood had sheeted black down his abdomen. "Went through my vest. I think it nicked the liver."

Kevin heard Chuck's footsteps behind him, spotted the bright beam from his flashlight. He pulled the night vision goggles up out of the way and turned. Sarah had the bow, which made sense, when he remembered Chuck's shoulder injury. The dying Ring agent coughed. "Agent Carmichael. Agent walker. So good to see you're not dead. I always thought the helicopter crash was too neat."

Chuck frowned and sent the flashlight into the captive's eyes. Kevin stripped the goggles off the man, and Chuck and Sarah let out near identical gasps of surprise.

"Smith? I watched you die."

Smith shook his head. "Vincent... was my brother," he coughed blood again. "That was my twin brother you killed."

"He killed himself," Chuck corrected. "Trying to blow me up along with him."

"Six of one, half a dozen the other," another coughing fit racked nim. "It hardly... matters now, does it? Your friend disabled my radio. Can't call the others and ruin your secret... anymore."

"How did you find us," Kevin said. "Tracer on Owens, right?"

"That too," Smith managed after a while. "But Frost told us there would be two Intersect agents leaving from that airport. What her sources might be, I've no idea."

"Frost? Chuck said. Who is that? Your boss?"

Smith nodded weakly.

"What can you tell us about her?"

Smith managed a sickly grin, and pulled his hand free of his wounded side. His eyes went unfocused almost immediately. Kevin cursed and pressed his hands over the wound, but Smith didn't regain consciousness. After a few moments, he cursed again and gave up. "Too much blood loss. He's not coming back."

"Maybe one of the others is still alive?" Sarah said, and scooped up the dead man's NVGs, heading down the line of downed agents.

"I'll go check on the boat," Chuck said, heading in the opposite direction, the bobbing of his under-barrel flashlight picking him out easily. Sarah came back, wiping a bloody knife on her pantleg. Kevin had his NVGs back on, and it raised his eyebrows. Of course Sarah couldn't tell that.

"Survivors?"

"Too far gone to tell us anything. I took care of it."

"Why? Isn't that a no-no? Killing the wounded?"

Sarah didn't answer for several seconds. He thought she wasn't going to answer him at all. "They would have been Chuck's," she said.

Kevin pursed his lips in annoyance. "And you're not going to tell him, are you." He didn't bother making it a question. "Who do you think that's protecting?"

"Let's go," she said, her non-answer telling him all he needed.

They found the air-boat easily enough. "Any damage?" Sarah asked.

"None I can see. But I still haven't tried to start it yet."

Kevin pressed the earpiece in tight against his head, and grimaced. "No time like the present. There's more of them, just radioed in for a status update. We need to go now."

They piled into the air-boat and it didn't sink immediately, so that was a plus, but the engine sputtered and died when Chuck tried to start it. "Awesome," Kevin said sourly. "We should have kept the Hellfire as a backup plan."

"Give it a minute," Chuck said. "I don't want to flood the engine. And did we decide it was safe to drive this thing at night?"

Sarah sighed. "Probably not, but We've got night vision goggles now, we might have a chance."

The engine roared to life and Sarah plopped herself down on the bench seat next to Chuck.

They took it slow at first, since any miscue could cripple the boat. Kevin overheard a couple more radio calls, and they tried to skirt around the Ring teams still searching. Now that they knew the Ring was aware they were searching for a pair of Intersect agents, the whole affair made more sense to Kevin. He was surprised the helicopters didn't resume the pursuit, but maybe the Ring didn't have the right equipment on hand for night flying.

It was a grueling night, even when they came out into some kind of river basin or something, and Sarah could open the throttle. That actually made it worse; the wind of their passage was bitterly cold. She almost didn't need the NVGs anymore; the night was clear and the moon was bright. They still had no idea of their destination, but Kevin began breathing easier with every minute they put between them and the pursuit. He hadn't even really been aware just how tense the entire situation had made him. It had almost felt like back in Afghanistan, except for the lack of mountains. Kevin eventually took over driving the air-boat. They drove through the night, taking turns at the controls.

The gray light of dawn began seeping up over the horizon before Chuck spotted lights in the distance. A town. They were out.

* * *

><p>They drew stares right off, grungy and covered in mud and swamp water. They abandoned the boat and the heavier weapons, though Sarah kept the bow and arrows. The town itself was tiny, with mom and pop stores lining the main thoroughfare. It was surprisingly normal, after their time in the swamp. There was a pay phone out front of a bait shop. Chuck patted his pockets, frowning to himself. "I don't have any change." None of them did.<p>

Chuck headed into the bait shop while Sarah and Kevin kept watch on the street. "Can I get some change for the pay phone?" he asked the man behind the counter.

"You can get the change, but that phone ain't worked in years."

"Could I use yours then?"

"Phone's for paying customers."

He bought a Styrofoam container filled with night-crawlers, and called in to the circuit-board at Langley. When he was finished hunching around the phone to avoid the clerk's nosy eavesdropping, he headed for the door.

"Hey, you forgot your bait."

Chuck frowned and then took the container. It'd be better if they didn't draw any more attention to themselves.

"So, when's our pickup?" Kevin said.

"There isn't one. Myers is convinced we have a leak somewhere, and he doesn't think it's safe to tell anyone our location."

"Lovely, so how do we get home?"

Chuck's smile was forced.

"Remind me to punch the next person who says being a spy is glamorous," Kevin said later, in the back of the chicken-truck they'd begged a ride from.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter marks the half-way point in this story. Things will only get crazier from here on out, so brace yourselves. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

I'll try to keep posting every couple of weeks or so, but I need to pump my original novel up in my priority scale, and that means a slowdown in posting this story.

Thanks for all the reviews so far, and please keep it up.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

Casey met them at the airport. Chuck and Sarah had wound up having to get Ellie to wire them money to buy tickets on a commercial carrier out of Jacksonville when their cash ran out. Their cover credit cards were deemed too risky. Whether the Ring knew those names or not was unknown, and they would assume the worst until proven otherwise. Kevin had a brief scare with the TSA in Jacksonville when he forgot to put his pocketknife in his checked baggage, and they tried to confiscate it. Frankly, Chuck couldn't blame them; Kevin's pocketknife was a first cousin to Crocodile Dundee's. And Kevin claimed there was still blood on it. He was pretty fastidious about weapon cleaning, though, so if there was still blood it was only microscopic particles. Luckily, Kevin had enough money left on hand to have it fedexed to himself.

"So let me get this straight," Casey said grumpily. "You go on what should be a straightforward surveillance op and turn it into a kidnapping, which then devolves into a plane crash, running gun-battle and escape through the swamp. Chuck has to use his watch to call in a hellfire missile so you can lay an ambush and get out of there. And everytime I go on surveillance ops, I get to listen to six hour discussions on which is better, pancakes or waffles?"

"Uh. Yes?"

"Oh, pancakes, hands down," Kevin said.

"Don't start something here, Kevin." Sarah murmured.

"I'm beginning to thing somebody up there doesn't like me," Casey said.

"Believe me Casey, we'd have traded places with you if we could've."

"Hey, where are we going," Sarah complained. "I thought you were dropping us off at the house to unload?" Sarah asked.

Casey shook his head. "You've got Myers convinced there's a leak. So it's mole hunt time. We're meeting up with the rest of the team now."

"Wait, hang on," Kevin said. "We're going on another mission. Right now?"

"No. We are the mission, we're heading to the offsite holding facility. The circle of people who could have been the leak on this is small, but bigger than any of us like. You three, me, Beckman, Myers, Jones, Manoosh, the rest of the recruits and two other guys on the science team. Thirteen is too many for comfort. There's a saying at CIA. Walker, you want to chime in?"

She let out a sigh. "Two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead? Or were you thinking of another one?"

"No, that's not it. I meant 'the odds of a secret getting out are proportional to the square of the number of people who know it.'"

"Yeah, that's a good one, too," she turned to Chuck. "It's standard procedure under the circumstances. They'll interrogate us separately on our movements leading up to the mission. Lie detector tests, fMRI, the whole shebang. Then the background checks and computer searches."

"If secrecy is so paramount, who does the interrogations, and searches?"

"Walker's sister. She's read in on the lower security compartment, but she's not aware of specifics. So she can't be the leak."

"Well..." Kevin said. "She did... kind of find out we were leaving town..."

Casey glared at Kevin. "And how did she find that out?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "She was... in my apartment when Chuck and Sarah came to pick me up and go to the airport Friday."

"Well what the hell was she doing there?"

Chuck choked trying to stifle laughter and Sarah punched him in the arm repeatedly. She must have chosen to sit on his right side so that she wouldn't aggravate his shoulder wound. "Shut _up_!" she hissed.

"I didn't say anything!" Chuck said.

"Would somebody please explain?"

"They had a... sleepover,"Chuck said, still fighting back chortles. Sarah slugged him again.

"Eugh," Casey sneered sidelong at Kevin. "You really know how to complicate things. Bartowski giving you lessons?" He fished out his phone and dialed. "Yes, general. We've got a complication, though. Our interrogator has a conflict of interest. Yes, ma'am. Must run in the family."

"Hey!" Sarah complained from the back seat.

"Don't act indignant, Walker. It's not like I'm wrong."

She huffed and turned to Chuck for support, but he merely shrugged. Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"Uncalled for, John." Chuck said, crumbling under pressure.

"Oh yeah, you're _real_ objective on the subject."

* * *

><p>"I won't sugarcoat it," Myers said. "Somebody in this room is a traitor."<p>

"And now it's a party," Chuck said. Nobody laughed, or even so much as broke a smile. Not even Sarah, and he could usually count on her for that much. Even if it was just patronizing. The offsite holding facility turned out to be the Myers family dining room, which struck Chuck as odd at first, until he remembered. The whole reason this was necessary was that CIA was compromised. Myers' home security system was pretty solid; not as good as what Chuck had installed in his own house, but close. Good enough that it was probably the only place Myers felt absolutely certain did not contain bugs or any other kind of surveillance devices. The dining room had a large table that could seat eight, but the room was packed. It was standing room only in the mole hunt. Wasn't there a reality tv show like this, where they threw everybody in the house and one of them was the mole? He couldn't think of it if there was. "Okay," he said into the awkward silence his attempt at levity had sparked. "This is my first mole hunt. How does this work?"

"This is hardly a routine mole hunt, and they're far from common themselves. I've got SPOs in a hard perimeter around the house. If anyone but our investigators try to exit the house, they'll be placed under arrest under suspicion of treason. If they resist arrest, they will be shot. Alternatively, if anyone would like to simply confess, now's the time," he waited. "No takers? Great, moving along. We've got two fMRI/polygraph stations set up in the upstairs bedroom and the den. My wife Margaret and Special agent Peters of the FBI will conduct the interviews. If there are no qustions... We'll start the interviews then. Chuck, Sarah, you're up first."

"Us?" Chuck said. "Did you miss the part where we got shot down and chased through the everglades by commando strike teams?"

"Hey, me too!" Kevin said. "We took down better than a dozen goons working for the Ring. Does that strike anyone else as overly byzantine?"

"Byzantine?" Chuck mouthed.

Myers grinned. "Word choice aside, you're right. I don't really think any of you three are the mole. That's why you're first."

Predictably, the first interrogations went smoothly, although Renee spent a fair amount of the time she had Chuck hooked up to the best lie detection protocol at the CIA's disposal to grill Chuck on his romantic past. After he fumbled the question on if he'd ever cheated on a girlfriend, the questioning became particularly heated. The machine didn't seem to care for ambiguities brought on by the whole cover girlfriend situation, but eventually, he at least had Renee satisfied that there wouldn't be any problems on that front in the future. He would have thought it would go without saying; if he ever had thoughts in that area, he expected fear of what Sarah would do to him would keep him in line. Not that he would ever have those thoughts. Seriously, had Renee just never _met _her own sister?

Chuck shook his head and padded downstairs, pausing to tug his shirt away where it had stuck to his chest with sweat before he stuck his head into the dining room. "General Beckman, Renee says you're up next."

"Good," she rose from the table. "I want this over with so I can get back to work."

Myers nodded to Chuck. "Sarah should be done soon, she and Mags are finishing up in the Den." He pointed the way and turned back to the dining room table, where an impromptu poker game had erupted. Casey had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Chuck frowned at the relatively convivial air of the room. He'd expected a mole hunt to be much more adversarial, but after a moment he cottoned on to Myers' genius. That's what the mole was expecting as well; they'd have prepared themselves for the lie detector tests, for good-cop, bad-cop, all the old standbys. And poker was about reading people anyway. Myers was looking for tells, so that he could compare notes with his wife once he was cleared. It was crafty, which Chuck figured was a good trait for the DDO to have. He didn't say anything of what he'd surmised, but Myers caught his eye for a moment, letting Chuck know his moment of recognition had been spotted and filed away.

Chuck headed for the Den, and found Kevin waiting in the hall, sitting on a chair obviously brought in from the dining room. "That anxious for a polygraph?" he asked.

"Sooner I get through with this, sooner I can get home and get some sleep."

"That seems to be the consensus; I should have thought to call Ellie again, and let her know we"ll be late. You mind telling Sarah where I-" The door to the den opened as he spoke, and Sarah stopped in the doorway. "So, judging by the lack of shackles, I take it you're not a traitor?"

"You really need to ask?" Sarah grinned, "Mags is waiting for you, Kevin."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Mags? You and the DDO's wife have nicknames for each other now? Does she call you Sar-sar?"

Sar-sar rolled her eyes, and checked that the door had shut behind Kevin. "If you start calling me that, I'm never sleeping with you again."

"Well I find that highly improbable," Chuck said. "You couldn't even banish me to the couch for a full night."

Sarah crossed her arms and scowled at him. "We can try again if you want?"

"Come on, I was kidding. Don't put me on the couch."

"Don't call me Sar-sar," she said, poking him in the stomach angrily.

Chuck put his hands up like her finger was a gun barrel, and the anger began melting away. She smirked, but she was still giving him the angry eyes. "I didn't know you'd be so touchy about it. But you like Mrs Myers?"

"She used to be a field agent. Her husband's a spy. We've got a lot in common. And I don't have a whole lot of friends."

Chuck gave her a one-armed hug and they went back toward the dining room. "Okay, we're both officially not traitors," Chuck said. "Can we go home and check on our baby?"

"Sorry," Myers said. "Everybody has to stay in the house until we're all cleared. Pull up a chair and play a few hands?"

"We could use your computer to Skype them then?"

"I'll have to put in the password for you. I fold." Myers shoved his chair back and led the way to his home office.

"Do you have any kids?" Chuck asked.

Myers nodded. "Two. Our eldest just graduated from Columbia and Katie, our youngest started at Caltech this fall. How do you think I know what Skype is?"

The door to Myers' office was open. Across from it was a closed door, which Chuck wondered about briefly, until a flush sounded from inside and the door popped open. The dark haired recruit with the black-framed glasses stood in the doorway.

Myers head cocked. "Why do you look shifty?"

"Uh... what?" Danny said.

Myers eyes narrowed. Chuck remembered the poker game. He must have picked up on one of Danny's tells. "Did you wash your hands?"

Danny grinned sheepishly and slipped backward in the bathroom, and Myers got them set up on the computer.

Ellie required a preparatory phone call, which Myers had to help connect, before her face appeared on the monitor. "Thank god you're okay, little brother!" were the first words out of her mouth. "What happened?"

"It's fine, really, but we can't talk about it."

"I hate all these secrets."

"Then put in a job application," Sarah said. "CIA sometimes needs doctors with security clearance. In the meantime, bring me my baby!"

"Relax Sarah," Devon said from off-screen, before swooping into frame with Lisa attached to a rig on his chest. "We're right here." Devon moved closer to the screen, until Lisa's blue eyed drooly face filled the monitor. Sarah sat on Chuck's lap and shifted the webcam atop the monitor so she could get her own face in the picture. Lisa's hand came up into view, trying to grab the screen.

"She sees you!" Ellie laughed.

Chuck and Sarah simply stared at the screen. After a while, Ellie's voice came through. "Are you guys still there? You're not moving."

"Just happy to see our girl," Chuck said.

"Aaaaand she must be happy to see you, too," Devon said. "Cause, I think she just filled her diapie."

* * *

><p>The rest of the lie detector sessions went about the same. According to the best technology available, none of them were traitors. So, Chuck and Jones got back on Myers' computer and started running everyone's financial records. It was duplicating the work done in the initial vetting process at first, but Jones had the idea to cross-reference the more recent mission dates, and came up with a disturbing pattern. PJ Carrington, one of the scientists working on Manoosh's team, had received payments the day after Chuck and Kevin had left for London, and again the Friday after Thanksgiving, of $10,000 each time. Myers had been watching over their shoulders as they worked; he pulled out a walkie from his inside coat pocket. "Myers to perimeter. It's Carrington, Ben. Come in and take him down."<p>

"It's hardly conclusive," Chuck said.

"That's true," Myers said. "Take the recruits, go toss his apartment and make sure." Casey took over interrogating Carrington with Renee and Margaret Myers helping out, while Beckman and the DDO had other, non-Intersect, matters to attend to, and the couple of hours all the preliminary interrogations had taken meant a backlog for them both. Chuck and Sarah piled in a waiting black Suburban with Kevin and the rest of the recruits.

Carrington had a moderately large, but not necessarily ostentatious house outside the southern stretch of the Beltway. He was unmarried and had no siblings, no girlfriend. Both his parents were deceased. No dogs or cats, or at least no doggie door. The no pets thing wasn't really an indicator, nor was the lack of family. But as Chuck and Sarah headed around the back with Jarod, there was a swimming pool, one of those fancy ones with the infinity style edge that cost more. There was a small water feature with boulders that fed a curtain of water into the far edge near a sectioned off hot tub. Chuck shot an inquiring look Sarah's direction. "We need one of those."

"Not until our kids learn to swim."

"I thought you only had the one?" Jarod said.

"Which means I won't be getting a pool for a _while_," Chuck said. "Okay, Jarod, you're up."

"Uhhh... what?" he said. "Do you assume because I'm black I know how to pick locks, because that's like super racist."

"No, no, no," Chuck said. "Lockpick skills are in the Intersect. Haven't you been working on this stuff with them, Sarah?"

"Mostly it's been self defense and marksmanship. And how to withstand torture."

"See, that's why _we_'re breaking in," Chuck said. "CIA has probably got whole teams just for breaking and entering people's houses."

Sarah shook her head from her position behind Chuck. "No we don't. At least not stateside. We're pretty much it."

"So, flash. Lockpicking is a risk-free flash to start on," he said. "Kevin got it to work pretty fast. Anger helped him trigger it, I think. But fear usually works better for me."

"I don't have any lockpicks or anything."

Sarah already had hers out, and slapped the leather-bound set into his palm. "I need another set of these if I'm going to keep loaning them out."

"We could probably deduct them on our taxes. They are a business expense."

"How would that look to the IRS?"

"That's a good point. Does CIA show up on our W-2s as our employer? Cause I got to think that'd be a red flag."

"Uch-ow!"

"Did you just flash?"

"Yeah, I got annoyed at you talking about taxes."

"So," Sarah said. "Anger, annoyance, fear. We're getting quite the spectrum of flash-emotions."

"And, we're in."

Sarah headed to the front door to let the others in, but the front door swung in and Laura leaped to her feet in triumph. "Ha! I got it!" She spun and hugged Danny, and then Kevin, in an excess of exuberance. "I didn't have to flash or anything."

"Who taught you to pick locks?"

"Oh, nobody, Agent Barton." she said, blushing faintly. "I just figured it was a useful skill for a spy to have. I ordered a book off Amazon."

"Okay. Time to split up. Kevin you and Danny and Laura do the upstairs, we'll check down here."

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Laura asked.

"Files, electronics," Chuck said. "secret rooms or hidey-holes."

"There probably won't be any secret rooms," Sarah put in. "But scoop up all the papers you find. I'll check them for microdots. Maybe he was old-school. And is anybody allergic to latex?"

"That's hardly an appropriate question," Chuck said. Jarod snorted holding in a laugh and clapped a hand to his face.

Sarah merely rolled her eyes and looked pointedly at Chcuck as she dug in her coat pocket. "Here..." she handed out pairs of latex gloves. "No fingerprints."

They fanned out to search and quickly Chuck and Sarah found a file cabinet full of tax documents and bank slips. Sarah pulled out a magnifier and started going over documents at the coffee table. Chuck went through the dvds for home-burned ones which might hold data. Jarod checked the kitchen and the hall closet before he went around rapping the walls gently with his knuckles, listening for secret compartments.

Finally, Kevin's voice boomed from upstairs. "I think we got something." Chuck and Sarah filed upstairs with Jarod and found Danny and Kevin poring over Carrington's desktop computer.

"You got through his security so fast?"

Kevin flapped a piece of paper. "Password was on a piece of paper taped under the keyboard drawer."

Danny shook his head. "It's so careless. The guy had his whole hard-drive encrypted."

"But you're looking through his emails?"

Kevin flipped the paper again. "Encryption key is on the back. Bet he's kicking himself over that one right about now."

"Where's Laura?" Sarah wondered aloud.

"Bedroom; she found his stash," Kevin offered.

"Guns? Drugs?"

"Ladies' shoes. She kind of shorted out when she saw some designer's name."

"Ladies' shoes? Well, I suppose it really does take all kinds."

"What does," Danny said.

"Treason."

Laura returned, a pair of blue strappy high heels in her hands. "You think the CIA would mind if I kept these? They're thirteen hundred dollars at retail."

Every man in the room blinked incredulously. "No, seriously," Kevin said.

"What size are they?" Sarah said.

"Eight. They're all eights."

"I think technically it's still stealing," Jarod said. "Treason doesn't mean his belongings are forfeit, does it?"

"He's right," Sarah said regretfully. "Put them back Laura."

"I think I got something," Danny said. He'd continued to flip through Carrington's emails while the ethics of stealing from traitors' creepy shoe collections had been discussed. "He deleted a bunch of emails recently, completely trashed them, same deletion protocol the DOD uses. But, it looks like he didn't get around to this one. Didn't even get to read it, still flagged as 'new'."

"What is it?"

"From a 'frost1024', at an anonymous mail server: looks like a warning that the op to catch you guys in Florida went wrong, that he should make a run for it."

"Nice work, everybody." Chuck said. "Let's grab the computer and get out of here."

It was after the SUV had dropped them back at the house that Chuck noticed that Sarah's shoes had seemed to magically change. It was the height difference that tipped him off as they walked up the driveway. Chuck held his hand up level with where the top of Sarah's head should be, and she was at least two inches too tall. He frowned and looked down at her feet.

"Did you..." he stared at the blue high heels where once there were black flats. "You stole that man's thousand dollar shoes."

"Thirteen hundred. And you can't prove anything." Chuck gaped at her retreating back for a moment before he jogged to catch up.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Keeping this story alive in your hearts, hopefully. Had a lot of fun writing this chapter. As always, I appreciate any and all feedback.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Just a heads up, this is one of those chapters that's kind of all over the map.

* * *

><p>Chapter 17: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas<p>

**Casa Bartowski**

**December 5**

**0158**

Nightmares woke him in the middle of the night once or twice a week after the mission to NASA and their harrowing escape through the everglades. They weren't technically recurring, because the details were never the same. Oddly enough, he wasn't reliving the gun battles, but the homecoming. He would be home safe and sound, except at some point he would go upstairs and find Lisa's crib empty. And then the shooting would start, and he'd wake up.

Before they'd left on the mission, Lisa would awaken him and Sarah promptly at 2 a.m., but now she'd begun sleeping through the night. Now the nightmares woke him at the same time. Hearing her cry out would have been reassuring. The silence was deafening as he lay on his back, staring at the alarm clock. He could never get back to sleep until he went in and checked on her.

Slipping out of bed without waking Sarah was a skill that Chuck was still trying to perfect, more than a year into their marriage, and she rolled over in her sleep now that he'd even thought about it, curling up atop him, throwing her arm and leg across him and snuggling in tight. He had to wonder every now and then if she was a closet telepath.

Chuck dismissed the idle thought and rolled over slowly, easing her over gently onto her back, and Sarah murmured something in her sleep. Chuck froze, but she didn't wake up completely, and a whisper in her ear later she was back under. He stole out of bed and rearranged the covers up under her chin before padding down the hall. Of course, Lisa was safe in her crib next door. It was still a relief of sorts, and he leaned against the railing for a minute, watching his daughter sleep and trying to put the nightmare behind him.

"Another nightmare?" Sarah whispered.

Chuck turned. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright, I was getting up anyway."

"What? Why?"

"Don't change the subject. The same one?" she said, gesturing toward Lisa's crib.

"Yeah," he said. Sarah came over and grabbed his arm, pulling it up over her head and then around her shoulders.

"Maybe you should talk to someone," she said.

"What am I doing right now?"

"I mean like a professional."

"I'm not crazy."

"I know that. Don't- I just mean... I'm not exactly the best emotional sounding board or whatever."

"Did you ever have nightmares after killing somebody?"

She turned slightly to stare up at him. "Of course. I still do, sometimes."

"But they don't wake you up in the middle of the night."

"They did before..." she said softly."As needy and codependent as this is going to sound, they woke me up before we started sharing a bed. I was never much of a morning person, but the nightmares made it worse. Then after we made it to Clarkdale, they weren't as bad."

"I seem to remember having to replace a couple of alarm clocks for you back in Burbank."

"See, I'm not making this up. Nightmares after-what we went through, those are normal."

They stood at Lisa's crib-side in silence for a while. Sarah laid her head on his shoulder. "I worry sometimes..." Chuck said.

"What about, in particular? We've got plenty of valid worry-topics."

He nodded down at Lisa asleep in her crib. "That I don't deserve her."

Sarah's breath caught. "Don't say that. Oh god, Chuck, don't _say_ that."

"I just... Sarah. I killed those men in Clarkdale, and I never thought twice about it," Chuck's voice was a harsh whisper. "I didn't have nightmares after that day. Armed men actually stormed our home and it's-"

She clamped a hand over his mouth. "Not here," she said, dragging him out into the hall. She closed the door behind them.

"What's the matter? Sarah, don't cry. What's wrong?"

"No fighting in front of the baby," she said.

"Were we about to fight?" Chuck asked.

"You haven't killed anybody."

"What?"

"Not in Clarkdale and not down in Florida."

"Sarah, come on. You don't have to say that to make me feel better, I-"

"The ones in Arizona, they lived. Two of them are still in the hospital, but they lived."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better. But on that last mission..."

"I went through and finished them off while you were checking the boat."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"And you think _you_ don't deserve that baby girl in there," Sarah said, "Do you know how much blood is on my hands?"

"Sarah, don't-"

"I don't know either. I've lost count. I don't ever want that for you."

"I don't even know what to say to that..." Chuck said. "Do you think I could change that much?"

"No. Of course not. I just-ugh!" Sarah raked her fingers through her hair. "You're a better person than I'll ever be, and I want you to stay that way."

"Sarah, come on. That's crazy," he said. "Do you really think I'd have married you if you were a bad person? Maybe I'm not the one who needs the shrink."

She glared at him for a moment, but it was half-hearted. "I was just trying to protect you. That's kind of my job."

"Maybe so, but you shouldn't have done it. Still, I'm glad you're telling me. Didn't we say 'no more secrets'?"

"Some secrets are important. A lady has to maintain an air of mystery."

Chuck shook his head. "That's not- this is different, Sarah. I understand you were trying to protect me, but we're supposed to be partners. I'm not talking about at work. We're married. That means we support each other, not treat each other like we're made of porcelain."

"I should have just let you kill those men?"

"Yes, if it came to it. The bad guys were closing in, and you went out of your way to protect me, not from any physical danger, but from metaphysical damage? I don't want you taking those kinds of things on yourself. We're in a dangerous enough profession already. But I'm not even upset about that, really," Chuck said. "I wish you hadn't had to do it, but I also understand we couldn't leave them wounded behind us to tip off their friends. It was an awful decision to have to make by yourself. I could have been there for you, if you'd said something."

"I know. I'm sorry I kept it from you."

"Did you think I would have tried to stop you? It was us or them. You drilled that into me long ago. If it's kill or be killed, I won't hesitate. It's not even really a choice at that point. I have to be alive to come home to you and Lisa. And that is one thing that is never going to change. I'll always come back for you, okay? If you have a problem with that, speak up."

"I don't have a problem with that," she said. There was a thoughtful pause before she went on. "I just couldn't take the chance at the time that you'd freeze up. Even if it was just for a second. We had to both come back, for Lisa's sake, and that's why I did what I did. I'm not sure I'd do anything differently if I had it to do over, except that I would have told you sooner."

"This isn't getting us anywhere, is it?"

"I guess not."

"I can only think of one solution, then. No more field missions, no more worrying about either of us having to kill people, or get killed ourselves. That's what we said when we agreed to come back. It's time we put our foot down with Myers and Beckman."

"I'm not sure the rest of the recruits are field-ready. Kevin, okay sure; he spent two tours in Afghanistan, but the others?" Sarah said. "I don't want to just throw them in the deep end. When I think about what we let you get into on your first couple of missions, I feel physically ill."

"They'll still have Casey watching over their shoulders. Between him and Kevin, they'll do fine. And I didn't have an Intersect Swiss-army knife. Can you imagine how things would have gone back in the old days if I'd had the skill flashes?"

Sarah shuddered. "Yeah. You'd have gotten yourself killed."

"I do okay..."

"I just meant you'd have tried to block bullets with your nun chucks or something. Even two years in you brought those idiot-sticks along on a mission," Sarah said.

"Idiot-sticks?" Chuck protested. "Okay, yeah. I can see how bringing nun chucks to a gunfight could be hazardous to my health."

"_Now_ you can see it. Back at the beginning though? You'd have gotten yourself shot within a week."

"Okay, you've made your point. No more field jobs for us. Anyway, Jones and I are pretty sure we've got CIA's communications clear again. We can set the team up with satellite comms and backseat-drive from Langley," Chuck said. "Or even here, if we sweet talk the DDO into cracking loose an extra STE."

"You're sure there aren't any more Ring hackers to worry about?"

"Jones and I have been working on that since we came back from Florida. Nothing's ever absolutely secure, but we're as close to the edge as you can get. Unless somebody's made a revolutionary breakthrough in quantum computing, and I'm talking an Einstein-level breakthrough, we should be safe."

"Beckman's still not going to like it."

* * *

><p><strong>CIA Headquarters<strong>

**Langley, Virginia**

**7th Floor Conference Room**

**0900**

"I don't like it," Beckman said.

"Too bad," Chuck said. Beckman blinked at him in shock. Myers hid a momentary grin behind his hand. "That's what we agreed to before we came back, and the recruits are ready for field trials, now."

"Were dragged back," Beckman corrected.

"That's irrelevant," Sarah said. "The last few months, with us going on missions has been the exception rather than the rule. We've got a five month old daughter at home; she needs her parents at home with her. And you've got what you always wanted anyway. Not one, but four Intersects. That doesn't even take into account the computer-based one. You don't need us in the field anymore."

"It's just sound tactics anyway, Diane," Myers said. "The plan was always to leave one human Intersect safe at home. Just it'll be Chuck instead of one of the new recruits. They're all itching to get into the field anyway. This way we don't have to deal with them complaining about a rotating schedule."

"You've been awfully quiet during all this, Colonel Casey," Beckman said.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I have. With all due respect, this move is long overdue. No offense, Bartowski, but you never were cut out for field work. I'm not saying you haven't done a good job, but you're a better fit in S&T."

"I don't disagree," Beckman said. "However, I worry about the timing. I'd prefer it if the new Intersect agents had a few missions under their belts before officially benching agents Walker and Bartowski."

Sarah frowned at Beckman's choice of surnames, but let it go. "I don't have a problem with that. We'll let the recruits take the next mission, and Chuck and I will be on standby if something comes up unexpectedly."

* * *

><p><strong>Quantico<strong>

**Shoot House**

**1630**

"Safe and clear!" Casey shouted, and after a few seconds, Danny and Laura gave the all clear. The Colonel did a walkthrough of the course, hiding his pleasure at the marksmanship the recruits had displayed. He had ramped up the course to insane levels, adding strobe lights and sirens and random blackouts, and nearly three times the usual number of civilian targets. They'd come through with flying colors; every round was right on target, and no cardboard civilians had lost their lives. He expected no less. Kevin and Jarod had done just as well. Both sets of his recruits had crushed the previous FBI record by at least a second and a half.

He came to the final target and nodded. Danny and Laura were watching him. He gave them the tiniest of smiles, just a hint of a curl of his lip. "Adequate," he said.

"Adequate?" Danny said incredulously. "The range master said we just set a record!"

Casey's grin widened. "He wasn't here when Kevin and Jarod ran the course."You're almost a full tenth of a second slow. So, you're adequate." He pulled out a tiny square-rule and held it up to Laura's final target. "If it makes you feel any better, this grouping of rounds here is a little bit tighter than Jarod's."

"How much tighter?"

Casey shrugged. "Sixteenth of an inch. Anyway, you both pass. As far as I'm concerned you're field ready." He walked off without another word.

"That's it?" Danny said. "I thought there'd be some kind of ceremony?"

"What do you want, a marching band playing 'Danny is Great?'" Laura asked.

Danny shrugged. "Well, if they have the sheet music, why not?"

Laura rolled her eyes and started out after the Colonel. "Come on, let's grab something to eat."

"Does this count as our first date?" Danny said as he fell in next to her.

She shook her head. "You're impossible."

They were waiting outside the shoot house, three of them, all nearly six feet tall. "There she is," Agent Barton said, pointing.

"What's going on?" Laura said.

"It's time," the redhead said ominously as she and the brunette strode over and grabbed her, one by each arm.

Laura glanced up at the two taller agents, trying to gauge what was happening, but the ladies didn't give away much. Was she in some kind of trouble? "Time for what..."

The brunette smiled, and it wasn't a reassuring expression. "Your makeover."

Danny shuffled sideways away from her. "If that's not my exit line, I've never heard one before."

He waited until he was around the corner before he started snickering. Laura shrugged against the grip, knew she was coming across as defensive, but couldn't stop herself. "Why do I need a makeover?"

"Honey, have you looked at yourself?" the redhead smirked. "You're a hot mess."

"I just ran three miles and went through a combat shooting exercise!" she protested.

"No reason to look like it."

* * *

><p><strong>Casa Bartowski<strong>

**December 23**

**1930**

"Okay, thanks anyway," Sarah said and hung up the phone. A few seconds later the secure fax machine began spitting out pages of files. In addition to the intel dailies for Chuck to go through were the CIA's files on an operative codenamed Frost.

Sarah glanced at them as she walked downstairs from the office. Chuck was sitting on the floor in front of the TV with Lisa, doing... something. "What are you doing?" she said, stuffing the sheaf of papers in her armpit so she could cross her arms.

Chuck looked up and took in her posture. "I'm trying to get her to roll over."

"It looks like you're tormenting her by putting her toy keys just out of reach. And taping it with your camera-phone."

"Uh... yeah, I guess I am... also doing that... But that's more of a side-effect." Sarah raised an eyebrow and Chuck visibly wilted. "We have to challenge her to develop; it's in all the parenting books."

"What... _all_ the books? We only have the one... you went shopping again, didn't you?" she remembered the inundation of pregnancy manuals during her second trimester, and fought a grin. She was trying to be stern here. "I thought rolling over was supposed to be a six or seven month milestone. She's still five and a half."

"Tell that to her," Chuck said. "She did it a little while ago, and I'm trying to get it on tape this time."

This time both of Sarah's eyebrows went up. Good lord, if she was already rolling over, she could be crawling soon. "Why didn't you say so?" Sarah felt panic rising. "We never finished baby-proofing the house, Chuck! This is all moving way too fast. What if she starts crawling before we get the gates for the staircase? That railing! She could go right through, why didn't I think about that before. I'd better run to the store right now- why are you laughing at me?" she said, stopping in her tracks and glaring at him.

"I'm not laughing, I'm smiling," Chuck said. "I ordered the baby-proofing stuff online ages ago. It all came while Ellie and Devon were sitting for us, and they put it in the garage. Relax."

"Then why were you grinning at me like that?"

"Can I help it if you're too cute for words when you go all maternal-instinct-worry-wart?" Sarah sat down on the sofa, with a grunt. "Hey don't pout."

"I am not pouting," Sarah said. She crossed her arms over her chest and sunk further into the cushions.

Chuck rolled his eyes, but let the blatant lie pass. "Anyway, crawling is the least of our worries."

"What do you mean?" Sarah said warily.

"Us Bartowskis are apparently notorious. We go straight for walking. No intermediate stage," Chuck shrugged as if this shouldn't concern her. "If you let Lisa grab onto your fingers she'll try to stand up, see?"

"Oh dear lord," Sarah whispered, as Chuck demonstrated. Lisa couldn't stand on her own yet, but with a grip on Chuck's fingers, she came wobblingly to her feet for a moment. Chuck grinned at her over his shoulder and set Lisa back down and continued the torture with the keys. "Are those the intel dailies?"

"Yeah, plus all the info they had in the database on this Frost character," Sarah said, glad of the change of topic.

"Anything good?"

"Nothing," Sarah said. "Somebody went through the files and obliterated everything. Except for a couple of mission dates, and the fact that Frost is a woman, we got nothing."

"What dates?"

"Some stuff back in the seventies and eighties, all the details are in the special files."

Chuck frowned. "Special files?"

"Sealed by order of congress until 2030," Sarah explained. "It must be pretty heavy stuff. Opening one of those is a federal offense, no matter what your clearance."

"So there's no way to look at those files?"

"I don't know; maybe the President could get to see what's in there, but it'd take an official executive order. I'm not up on the legalities of it all. They really don't want anybody looking in those. And it might not be anything useful anyway."

"I guess it was a long shot after all. All the old Ring bigwigs were pretty good about covering their tracks, it figures Volkoff's puppet-Elders would be just as detail oriented about those kind of things. Can I see the dates at least?"

"Sure. What are you thinking, you'll flash on them?"

"No, just curious," he took the sheaf of papers and sidled up onto the couch, handing her the ring of brightly colored plastic baby-keys. "Here, you take over."

"I don't like teasing the baby," Sarah said, but moved down to the floor anyway. She helped Lisa sit up and let Lisa grab her toy. The baby grinned up at her and the proceeded to stick them in her mouth. Sarah glanced up at Chuck and spotted a worried expression on his face. "What's up, you flashed?"

"No. No it's nothing. It's got to be a coincidence."

"Tell me," Sarah said.

"One of these mission dates. It's Ellie's birthday."

Lisa started up then, saying 'bulah bulah bulah,' over and over, and Chuck and Sarah watched her with bemused expressions until she subsided to gum the keys some more.

"Your dad was working for the CIA back then," Sarah said. "Maybe Frost was working protection for Ellie's birth."

"That could be it. Weird. I guess the intelligence community is a small world after all."

"If you start singing it, I'll scream."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Unintentional, baby."

"You promise," Sarah said. "No offense; your singing voice is fine, but we're going to be exposed to that song plenty, when Lisa's older. I'd prefer to put it off as long as possible. I hate that song."

"I promise," Chuck drew an imaginary cross over his heart.

Lisa finally got bored with her plastic keys and spat them out onto the carpet. She began to wail, and Sarah scooped up the keys to jingle them in front of her daughter's face. It didn't work this time; instead of grabbing for the keys, Lisa slapped them away and bawled.

"What's all that about?" Chuck said.

"I think it's about bedtime," she said, "see, now she's rubbing her eyes."

Chuck glanced at his watch. "It's still early though, she'll be up in the middle of the night."

Sarah merely shrugged and scooped up the baby. "Maybe that's good. I keep waking up in the middle of the night to pump anyway, even if she doesn't need a feeding."

After the 'let's brush our teeth' song (which was mostly preemptive at this point), Lisa's bath, and nearly half an hour of rocking, they finally got Lisa to bed, staggered downstairs and collapsed in a puddle on the couch together.

"Ugh..." Sarah groaned. "Is this going to get any easier at some point?"

"Eventually she'll be potty trained so there won't be as much diapering involved, but she'll also be bigger so carrying her upstairs will get harder."

So what you're saying is no, it'll just be less messy."

"Ideally."

"I'll take what I can get," Sarah said.

"Would you take a foot massage?"

Sarah groaned again, and nodded, shoving her feet at his hands, "Yes, please."

Chuck set dutifully to work, and after a few minutes, the noises of pleasure Sarah began to make gave Chuck pause. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Mfine, don't stop..." she said through half-lidded eyes. "Just like that... yes..." Her breath caught for a moment and Sarah led out a little shuddering gasp.

Chuck's eyebrows rose. "Did you just... you know... from a foot rub?"

Her eyes widened and she blushed like the sunset. "No! Shut up!" she said in a high whisper.

"You did!" Chuck laughed. Sarah grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the chest. He batted the pillow away and adopted his 'finger-guns voice.' "That's why they call me magic-hands..." He leaned over, coming at her with said finger-guns, and Sarah let out a cackle before she could stop herself.

"Shhh!" Chuck hissed, and Sarah clapped a hand over her mouth. They froze, listening to the baby-monitor and hoping against hope that the outburst hadn't woken up Lisa.

Seconds seemed to drag on into aeons. "I think we lucked out," Sarah whispered. "Sorry I laughed."

"It was supposed to be funny," Chuck said.

"I know. Your fake seduction voice from that thing with Roan and Sasha Banachek. How could I forget? And that kiss!"

Sarah lunged upward to reenact it. Chuck slid his hand into her hair and kissed her right back. But after a moment he pulled away.

"Just so we're clear, the magic-hands thing... that actually happened, yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me," Sarah said, and grabbed him by the shirt to lever herself on top. The sofa was no place for those kinds of gymnastics and they tumbled off onto the carpet.

"Ow!" Chuck grunted. And then they froze again, but again, Lisa remained asleep.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said softly, digging under his back. "I landed on Lisa's toy keys." He jingled them to demonstrate.

Sarah grinned. "Is that your cell phone vibrating or are you just happy to see me?"

Chuck winced. "I'm pretty sure that's my cell. I put it on vibrate when we got Lisa down for the night."

"Don't answer it. Maybe you'll get lucky."

"And we're turning off the phone."

Sarah grinned and cupped his face as she kissed him. Only moments later, the house phone rang aloud. "Damn it," Sarah said a second before Lisa started wailing.

"Dibs on the phone," Chuck said.

"Jerk," Sarah rolled her eyes and they scrambled up off the floor in opposite directions.

Chuck got to the phone, just before the fourth ring. "Bartowski residence," he said.

And then he looked at the caller ID, and his good mood evaporated.

"I need you two to come in tomorrow. We've got a situation," General Beckman said without preamble.

"Of course we do," Chuck said. "In all fairness, I should warn you. Sarah's not going to be happy about any of this. We just put Lisa down for the night when you called. What's the situation?"

"This isn't a secure line."

"Hang on," Chuck said, "There's one in the office."

Sarah met him on the stairs, bouncing Lisa on her hip. "I know that look. We just got done telling them no more field work."

"Tell her yourself, once I get her back on the secure line," Chuck said. Sarah followed him into the office with Lisa still none-too-pleased with the world in general. He plopped into the desk chair and fired up the monitor. In short order, they had the secure video conference set up.

Beckman immediately reeled backward from the screen.

"Is everything alright over there, Chuck?"

"You woke up the baby, Diane," Sarah said. "And I put in for time off this week in _September. W_e're not coming in on Christmas Eve, or Christmas day, or Boxing Day. In fact, lose our number until after the first of the new year."

"But-"

"Chuck, cut the feed."

"_Seriously?_" Chuck frowned over his shoulder. Sarah raised her eyebrows and pointed at the screen insistently around the armful of baby.

Chuck shrugged at the general apologetically, and disconnected. He swiveled his chair around to stare at his wife. "What has gotten into you?"

Sarah covered Lisa's ears and waggled her eyebrows. "It's what hasn't got into me that's the problem."

It was Chuck's turn to blush crimson.

* * *

><p><strong>Casa Bartowski<strong>

**Christmas Day**

**0815**

Sarah opened one eye grudgingly, peering around the bedroom and debated snuggling deeper into her warm spot in the bed. It took a moment for the realization to come, that her warm spot wasn't as warm as it should be; Chuck was missing. Sunlight was slanting in through the window, and she glanced at the alarm clock. She had to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun. 9:30. Sarah dragged herself out of bed and padded next door to Lisa's nursery, only to find it empty as well.

The smell of cinnamon drew her downstairs where Chuck was sitting with Lisa, tearing open presents with abandon. Lisa seemed heartily amused by all the paper-ripping.

Sarah cleared her throat during a lull in the frenzy of unwrapping, and Chuck glanced her way.

"Morning sleepyhead," Chuck said.

"Did you get her enough presents?"

"It's Lisa's first Christmas."

"Yeah, but she's not going to remember it."

Chuck rolled his eyes and Sarah felt mildly perturbed with him for it. "But _we'll_ remember..."

"Okay, that's a fair point. Hand her over, she's overdue for her morning feeding and I feel like I'm gonna pop."

"Oh, I fed her from one of the spare bottles so you could sleep in."

She sighed. "Great. I guess I've got an appointment with the pump, then. Try not to open all the presents before I'm back?"

"These are just the ones from Santa," Chuck explained.

"Uch," Sarah said. "Really? Are we going to propogate that lie for our kids?"

Chuck clapped his hands over Lisa's ears. "Hey, shush with that! What have you got against ol' Saint Nick?"

"I did tell you how me and Dad spent our Christmasses, right?"

"The Salvation Army Santa con," Chuck said, "I remember. Still, can you make the effort to find your Christmas spirit? There's homemade cinnamon buns and frsh coffee in it for you?"

"I think I could be persuaded to find a little holiday cheer."

Sarah came downstairs for the second time, and was greeted by a different scene. Chuck had Lisa strapped to his chest and handed her a mug of coffee and a plate bearing a pair of cinnamon rolls. "Is this going to be a new Christmas tradition?"

"You kind of poo-pooed my Twilight Zone marathon last year, so we'll have to work on our own traditions. Like this one." With her hands full, Sarah couldn't fend off the Santa hat Chuck produced. "See you're producing Christmas spirit at record speeds. Also, check this out..." he led the way to the living room, pointing out the window into nthe back yard.

"Oh," she said.

"That's it? We've got an honest to god 'white Christmas' situation going on and all I get is 'oh'?"

Sarah frowned. "You realize this means the roads will be all icy, right? And the snow plows aren't that efficient when it isn't a national holiday?"

"Why would we need to go anywhere? It's Christmas! Let's go open presents."

"Here, let's start with Casey's."

"When did he drop these off?" Sarah wanted to know.

"Yesterday, he'd have stopped by this afternoon, but he's off on a mission with the recruits."

"Oh. I guess that's what Beckman wanted us for?"

Chuck thrust the box at her. It was fairly large, and he was curious. "Come on open it."

The wrapping paper was emblazoned with christmas trees and-she couldn't believe her eyes at first-assault rifles. Inside she discovered an expensive high-powered rifle scope, along with some other less expensive accessories for her previous housewarming gift. "He planned ahead I guess," Chuck said.

"This is too much," Sarah said, a touch frustrated with the Colonel. "This is like a fifteen hundred dollar scope. What did we get him?"

"Socks with christmas trees on them," Chuck said. "I guess we're going to have to leave the house to go shopping at some point after all."

"What'd he get you?"

Chuck's present was a little smaller. He discovered the t-shirt first.

**D.A.D.D. **

**Dads Against Daughters Dating: **

**shoot the first one and the word will spread.**

Chuck laughed at first, until Sarah spoke up. "I don't think that's the whole present..."

"What do you mean?" Chuck said, then rooted through the box. He came up with a box of shotgun shells. "Oh, lord, he didn't get that the shirt was joking..."

Sarah took the box of shells. "Huh, well, at least they're non-lethal, see? Rubber bullets... filled with tear-gas? I didn't even know the made these. Oh, look, there's a little brochure for the place he got them. They make all kinds of cool stuff."

"Dare I ask?"

"Flashbang rounds, dragon's breath, Infra-red masking smoke, all kinds of nifty stuff to shoot out of the shotgun he gave you."

"What would I ever use smoke screen rounds for?" he wanted to know.

Sarah shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm definitely ordering you some of these."

"Which?"

"Oh, I meant all of them. They're not even restricted or anything."

"Can the exotic shotgun ammo wait until we finish unwrapping presents?"

"...Yes."

Chuck and Sarah went through the rest of their gifts, discovering that the former C.A.T. squad members had discovered lingerie for all occassions-red with fur trim matching the Santa Claus hat- which was an eye opener. Devon had gone all out, with seed packets so they could grow their own gingko biloba and ginseng for the smooties Awesome still wouldn't shut up about. Ellie, more practical, got them baby clothes.

"Here's another one for you from Morgan," Sarah said. She'd had to crawl into the pile of presents to find a remaining gift not addressed to Lisa.

Chuck unwrapped Morgan's gift and groaned aloud. "Seriously, Morgan?" he asked the room.

"What is it?" Sarah said, already mentally preparing herself for whatever had caused such a reaction.

He held up the offending item. "It's a mistletoe belt-buckle," he said.

Sarah frowned in puzzlement for a moment, before it sank in. "Oh, gross..."

* * *

><p><strong>Washington, D.C.<strong>

**Dutch Consulate**

**1715**

"So, how did our training compare to Ranger school?" Danny asked.

Kevin shrugged. "Apples andd oranges. Ranger school we started with 350 candidates, whittled down to under a hundred actually got their Ranger tabs. 75% failure rate doesn't really work when you've only got four candidates. First three days of Ranger school we lost a third of the class. Fifteen mile forced marches, in full gear, wearing 80 pound rucks. That's one thing we never had to worry about."

"Because you're spies, not soldiers. Carrying 80 pounds of weapons and ammo might draw just a little attention, don't you think?" Colonel Casey said. Kevin needed to remember to call him Coburn. It was a bad habit, even thinking the man's prior cover identity.

"I figured that, just from the clothes," Laura said. She was wearing a gray sequined dress and hoop earrings, while the boys were in tuxedos.

"Enough chatter back there," Coburn said. "We're almost ready. This is your first real mission. Everybody remember the briefing?"

"Our target is Lars Newssen, midlevel employee, we found his name on Carrington's hard drive. One more rung up the ladder to Volkerton," Jarod said.

"Volkoff," the Colonel corrected.

"I knew that," Jarod said. "I was trying to lighten the mood.

"And our objective is his computer hard drive," Danny said. "Supposed to be upstairs away from the party in his office."

"Who puts together a huge Christmas party like this anyway?" Jarod said, "Especially one big enough they won't notice four strangers?"

"Apparently the Dutch ambassador has a bit of a Christmas obsession," Chuck said over the secure commlink, "but remember, you're to avoid drawing attention to yourselves. And strictly speaking, you'll be on foreign soil, so if you get caught bad things will happen."

"Holland is a friendly nation, but they're not likely to be thrilled to discover a CIA mission going on during their Christmas party," the Colonel said. "If you get caught, getting you back is going to entail explaining ourselves, and nobody on our side is exactly going to be doing backflips for joy."

"Okay, we get it. Don't get caught." Kevin said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, Danny and Kevin, you need to put your glasses on,"

Chuck said. "Okay, great. I can see, it's a miracle," he said once they had started up the tiny cameras embedded in the frame of their eyeglasses. "You should have the same feed I do, John."

"Got it, Chuck."

"Okay, let's do this," Kevin said.

"Not so fast," the colonel said. "Hand over the piece."

"What piece?" Kevin said with feigned innocence. "I'm unarmed."

"Nice try, Kevin. Hand it over."

Kevin sighed and stooped, pulling a revolver from his ankle holster and passing it over.

Coburn hefted the weapon. "What is this, a .357 magnum?"

".410 shotshell, loaded with double ought buckshot, " The other recruits eyed him warily. "What?" Kevin said, "I like to make sure they stay down if I have to shoot them."

The colonel grinned. "A man after my own heart. Okay, alpha team first."

* * *

><p>The recruits filtered into the party over a half-hour period. Alpha team, Danny and Laura, went in first, under newly assigned cover identities as a married couple. Beta team came next, though Kevin and Jarod staggered their entrances so they wouldn't be connected in anyone's mind.<p>

"Well so much for not drawing attention to myself," Jarod muttered into the microphone at his wrist.

"What's wrong?" Colonel Coburn asked.

"You've got visual, don't you?" Jarod said, "This is the whitest party in the history of the world."

"Just circulate, make small talk," Chuck said. "You and Kevin are only there for backup, so keep an eye on security while Danny and Laura are upstairs."

Getting away from the party didn't take them very long, and the plans CIA had on file for the building turned out to be dead accurate.

"I can walk you through the hacking if you need it, Danny," Chuck offered, but just at the same moment, Laura staggered slightly.

"It's alright, Agent Barton," Laura said. "I just flashed." She made quick work of Newssen's firewall, and hooked up the equipment to clone the drive.

"You got a bogey incoming," Kevin said over comms, and Chuck flicked to the secondary video feed. He flashed almost immediately.

"That's Viggo Clarksen, Consulate-"

"Head of security," Jarod said. "I flashed on him a second ago."

"Chuck, where are you?" Sarah said from down the hall, and he froze in his swivel-chair. He hadn't told her he was helping out on the mission, and while he didn't think she'd be mad about it, the fact was that he'd told her he was playing xbox with Morgan to avoid the risk.

He covered his microphone and called back. "In the office sweetie, what's up?"

"What do we do? Hide?" Laura asked.

"Better than nothing," Casey said from the surveillance van. Danny and Laura darted into a small closet. The camera in Danny's glasses was equipped for night-vision, otherwise there wouldn't have been a lot to see.

The door opened and Sarah stopped in her tracks, Lisa perched on her hip. "Xbox with Morgan, huh?"

Chuck turned from the screen and shrugged sheepishly. "They wanted me for technical assistance. And we've kind of got a situation. Danny and Laura are hiding in our target's office closet from Consulate security."

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Whose numbskull idea was that?"

"Now isn't really the best time to point fingers Agent Barton," Laura whispered.

"Clarksen's almost there, you two, cut the chatter," Kevin said.

"They can hear me?" Sarah asked. Chuck nodded. "Okay, then start making out."

"What?" Danny demanded. "That's crazy. I know you see it all the time in movies, but nobody actually falls for that, do they?"

"They do if you sell it right," Sarah said. "So make out! Now!"

"He's going into Newssen's office; it's now or never," Kevin said.

The feed from Danny's glasses became useless, as the lens was pressed against Laura's temple when they kissed.

Sarah gave them pointers over the comms. The lights came on, and they could hear Clarksen clearing his throat. "Ignore him, he'll break you apart in another second," Sarah suggested.

"Excuse me," a new voice intruded, and the video from Danny's glasses came into focus, slightly angled where the frame was askew. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought that would be obvious," Laura said, slurring her words as if half in the bag already.

"I'm going to have to ask you to return to the party," the head of security said.

"I can't believe that worked," Casey said over the comm circuit, only a moment before the drive copier beeped to announce it had completed its mission.

Clarksen whirled, and cursed in Dutch.

Danny and Laura struck almost as one; Laura kicked him between the legs and Danny elbowed him in the side of his head just behind the ear. "Okay, that could have gone better," Danny said. "Now what?"

"Get his tie off and bind his hands, find something to gag him with," Sarah said.

"Jarod, Kevin, we're going to need you to go into security and erase the footage of the party to cover your tracks," Casey said.

"I guess it's good you at least let me bring the knockout gas breath-spray," Kevin said.

"They're still using that stuff?" Chuck asked.

"Why mess with a classic?"

The security booth was surprisingly poorly guarded, and Kevin and Jarod's mission to scrub the footage went off without a hitch thanks to a quick Computer science flash on Jarod's part. The recruits rendezvoused back at the van, the harddrive in tow, and made good their escape before the unconscious head of security was discovered.

The Colonel stopped and got them all ice cream for a job well done. "What are we, third graders?" Danny complained. So Danny didn't get any ice cream.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So, with this chapter, we're in the calm before the storm, as I like to call it. From here on in, things will get more action heavy as the team closes in on Volkoff and his goons. I'd like to take this moment to thank everyone for their continued reviews.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: So, believe it or not, the bulk of this chapter was written before I started putting up chapters of _Chuck & Sarah vs the Bunker_, back in 2010.._._

* * *

><p>Chapter 18: These Go to Eleven<p>

**Jan 5, 2012**

**Earth Treks **

**Rockville, MD**

"That's not fair," Margaret Myers said, when Sarah stretched up and hung by her fingertips for a moment from an overhanging handhold. "Your arms are longer than mine."

Sarah grunted with effort and hauled herself up to a more secure grip on the wall. "Please, you've at least been here before. The last time I really did any climbing was back at the farm. I forgot how much I missed it."

"No rock climbing on missions?"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about work?"

Mags shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm just surprised."

"There was plenty of rappelling _down_ cliffs during exfil, just we mostly came _in_ through the front doors. Or if it was an out-and-out combat insertion we'd parachute in and avoid exposing ourselves to fire on the cliff-face."

"I guess that's understandable," Mrs. Myers said. "How's your daycare working out? Any problems?"

"Everything's fine," Sarah said in between pulling herself from handhold to handhold. "We went with the in-house daycare, Miss Marlene impressed me."

"She's the best. Although the on-site CIA daycare is kind of intimidating if somebody has to come pick her up for you."

"Tell me about it," Sarah said. "Ellie about had a nervous breakdown going through security."

"Don't make me laugh, I'm already short of breath."

"Did you tell your kids where you and Bill worked?"

"Whoa, we got serious all of a sudden," Mags said, pausing in her climb. "Not when we were in the field; they thought we were just State Department worker bees. We kind of had to use them as part of our cover."

"That's horrible!" Sarah paused in her climb to stare in shock at Mags.

"It was perfectly safe," she managed to shrug while clinging to an inverted section of the wall. We were under diplomatic cover at the time. The Russians do the same thing, we found out. After all, who'd be crazy enough to bring their wife and kids along on an espionage mission?"

"Apparently, everybody!"

"Yeah, it's all a shell game; now we have psychiatrists on the payroll decide what ratio of diplomatic cover agents get to-slash have to- bring their kids, trying to predict Russian models on that topic."

"Lord, you're making me start to miss my Non-official-cover days," Sarah said. "No more talking, race you to the top."

"I'm seventeen years older than you! How is that fair?"

Sarah did manage to beat Mags up the wall, but it was closer than she expected. "How often do you do this?" Sarah said, wiping sweat from her brow at the top of the wall.  
>"I'm retired, the kids are out of the house," Mags said. "Two, three times a week. Then spin class, a couple other things every now and then. I like to keep the old skills fresh."<p>

"Why'd you retire?"

"I think you've asked me that before," Mags said mildly, leaning back against the belaying rope. "It was just... time. You thinking of hanging up your spurs, cowgirl? I thought you and Chuck begged out of field assignments."

"We did," Sarah said. "Just, you could have done the same thing and still stayed with the Agency."

"I suppose I could have," Mags said. "I guess, I just wasn't ever as gung-ho as Bill was, and the kids were at the age I just wanted to spend more time with them than was practical if I was working full time at the agency. The CIA doesn't really like the idea that anything else comes first."

Sarah chewed her lip. "I've never done anything else," she said after a moment, "unless you count selling frozen yogurt, but that was part of a cover assignment, so I don't. I don't think I'm equipped to be a full-time mommy. When I took my... vacation... I was practically climbing the walls."

"And what are we doing now?" Mags laughed at her choice of words. Sarah rolled her eyes. "I get how the uncertainty can eat away at you. But it's really just a matter of what makes you happy. Are you happy at the CIA?"

"I don't even know."

"Well, until you know that," Mags said. "There's no use worrying about the rest of it. That help?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Thanks."

"Uh, ma'am!" the Earth Treks employee manning the belaying rope called up. "I think your phone is ringing."

"Race you to the bottom?" Sarah grinned.

Mags shook her head and raised her voice. "No way, you see the little twig of a girl on my belaying line?"

"I heard that," her belayer said.

"It was a compliment, girl."

They went down the fifty foot climbing wall much more quickly than they went up it, and Sarah scooped her phone from the employee's hand. "It's work," she said.

Mags went up on her toes and peered over Sarah's shoulder. She raised an eyebrow. "You mind if I ask my husband why he's calling strange women in the middle of day?"

Sarah laughed and passed the phone over. "Be my guest, this ought to be good."

The playful banter between Mr. and Mrs. Myers didn't last long; Mags grin shrank and she passed the phone back wearing a serious expression. "You need to take this someplace secure."

Mags drove Sarah back to Langley, and dropped her off at the front entrance. They didn't talk much on the way, and Sarah was fighting not to chew her nails. All the DDO had been willing to say over the phone was 'it's about Chuck', which was extremely unnerving.

Relinquishing her firearm and throwing knives before heading through security was worse. Her palms itched on the elevator ride to Myers' 7th floor office.

She nearly fell over in relief when she spotted Chuck across the room.

"You said this was about Chuck?" she said. "I thought he'd been kidnapped or something."

"Sorry about that," Myers said. "But secrecy on this one was important."  
>"I'm pretty sure we've got all the communications secure again," Chuck interrupted.<p>

"Pretty sure isn't good enough," Myers said. "We've got a situation that we were unprepared for. I know you've requested to no longer go on field operations, and under normal circumstances we'd respect that."

"But these are anything but normal circumstances," Beckman said. "Jill Roberts has made contact."

Sarah let out a sigh. "Of course she did..." she finally said. "I assume there's more than that?"

"She knows you're the intersect, Chuck, and Ring agents have been trying to recruit her," Myers said. "If we don't get to her first, she can blow this whole thing wide open."

"We need Chuck to bring her in. You can use your prior relationship to convince her protective custody is the safest thing for her.

"But really she's going back to prison." Sarah said. It wasn't a question, there was a certainty in her voice that brooked no argument from Myers or Beckman, either one. Myers looked uncomfortable, but Beckman had the same focused frown she always did.

"Actually, Agent Walker," Beckman paused when Sarah growled in the back of her throat like some kind of wild animal. She smirked in response. "Protocol. Walker is the base cover identity Roberts knows you under."

"Hang on. Hang on. Hang on." Sarah said, realization lighting up her eyes dangerously. "Marital veto. No way in hell is Chuck seducing his ex-girlfriend."

"Honey," Chuck started, putting his hand on her shoulder.

Sarah shrugged the offending hand off. "Oh hell no," she said, pointing her finger at Chuck without even looking in his direction. "_You_ stay out of this. Myers, legally you can't force him to do this."

"Sarah, calm down." Chuck started, and Sarah finally looked at him merely for the purposes of glaring him into silence. Myers coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.

"Mrs. Bartowski," the Deputy Director for Operations of the Central Intelligence Agency said softly.

"What!" She growled, rounding on him before she regained her equilibrium. "I apologize for the outburst, Deputy Director Myers. That was unprofessional of me."

He grinned. "Nothing unprofessional about it. If they tried to talk me into letting my wife seduce some other guy I'd react in much the same way. But that's not what we're doing."

Sarah frowned. "You're not? Did I just walk into a different conference room from everybody else?"

Beckman was enjoying this, _damn her_. "If you'd let us finish, Agent _Walker_, we intend to use Chuck's presence as an... incentive, let's say. Given the knowledge that she has, if we send anyone in besides Chuck, they don't know what they're getting into; we can't brief any other agent fully without risking further exposure of the entire situation with your supposed demise. Also, it's doubtful that Roberts will react well to potential contact by any agent who isn't Chuck. And Casey and the others' plane left for a mission in Detroit ninety minutes ago. We were going to call you in to help with that, when the situation with Roberts came up."

"What's going on in Detroit?" Chuck said, glad of a potential change in subject.

"The drive we recovered from the Dutch consulate gave information on a potential weapons deal. Our old friend Frost is supposed to be in attendance," Myers said. "But we're here to deal with the Roberts situation. If we sent you to talk to her, Sarah, Jill just seeing your face would probably instigate a firefight. So, Chuck will need to take point on this mission."

"But, I'll at least be standing by with the sniper rifle?" Sarah said hopefully.

"Of course," Beckman said. "She makes one wrong move, end her."

Chuck's eyes widened. "What?" he blurted.

"I'm liking this mission more and more," Sarah said, a grin splitting her face as she looped her arm through Chuck's. "When do we leave?"

"There's a little more to this mission than that, Agent Walker, Agent Bartowski. First off, we need to know before we offer Ms. Roberts anything, who she's told, if anyone, about your involvement in the Intersect project. Your previous relationship should be able to defuse any suspicions on the part of casual observers. However, it is deemed possible that the Ring has a likeness of 'Agent Charles Carmichael' who they believe to be deceased."

"Which means," Myers said, making his tone a little more compassionate than Beckman's. "That Roberts might already have given the Ring your real name. First priority we need to make sure your true identity hasn't been compromised. We are putting together potential protection packages, however the most likely scenario is full-time witness protection for Drs. Woodcombe, you, Sarah, Lisa, and a ...Morgan Grimes?" he paused, a little confused, "Is that right? Who is this Grimes?"

"My oldest friend sir," Chuck said. "He knows just enough to put him in danger, but not enough to do anyone any good if they interrogate him. We've been communicating solely through Xbox Live."

Beckman shook her head in disgust. "Unencrypted? Agent Bartowski!"

Sarah turned her glare on Beckman, and the chill there was noticeable. She'd never forgotten Sarah's visit to her bedroom during the 'Bunker Fiasco,' and Sarah hadn't forgotten Beckman's 'your wife and daughter died in childbirth' gambit either. Though there wasn't a lot either could do about it, it made for sometimes... intense meetings. Thankfully Beckman spent most of her time at Fort Meade and Chuck and Sarah split time between Quantico and Langley. "I explained to Morgan in no uncertain terms what would happen if he compromised Chuck's anonymity in any way," she smiled thinly. "He hasn't slipped up once, which is better than Chuck's record."

"Hey," Chuck protested. "You were supposed to be defending me."

"Sorry honey, I can only defend one nerd at a time," she shrugged. "Anyway, why go to this risk? If us contacting Jill exposes the Carmichael Walker and Casey deaths as a hoax, and gives them the name Bartowski to throw around, why do it?"

"As we mentioned earlier, the Ring wishes to re-recruit Dr. Roberts. Chuck's identity is most likely not their primary concern here, but more likely her possible interactions with Bryce, who the Ring still believe to have been the Primary, original Human Intersect," Myers said. "Still and all, if they have already made her an offer, she might decide to sweeten the pot by offering that information. It's a greater risk just to assume Jill won't betray you to the Ring."

"If she's already given them the fact I've got an intersect in my head," Chuck said. "Then sending me in there just strikes me as... foolish."

"That's putting it mildly," Beckman said. "You've got a date with Manoosh, Chuck. We'll be removing the database portion of the Intersect before you leave."

"And I'll still have the predator in case something goes sideways."

"Actually, no," Myers said. "Where you're going we can't cover up a predator missile impact, and we like to avoid international incidents with countries we share a border with."

"Mexico?" Chuck said. "I hear Cancun is nice this time of year."

"Edmonton, Alberta. Canada."

"In January?" Chuck complained.

* * *

><p><strong>Jan 5 2012<strong>

**Edmonton, Alberta**

**Canada**

**1730**

"Well," Jill said. "I knew they'd find me eventually, I just didn't think they'd send you."

"Yeah, what are the odds? Three active field agents in the world know why they want you out of circulation and they send one of them," Chuck scoffed. "It's a crazy world. You couldn't have run to South America? It's freezing, and who heard of a sidewalk cafe in Canada in the middle of winter."

"I think it's invigorating. Active field agent, huh," Jill said, smiling at him in a way that set off alarm bells. She was trying to seduce him. Chuck made a fairly convincing stab at an nervous swallow, just not nervous for the reasons Jill thought. He wondered exactly how good the scope on Sarah's rifle was. Beckman's 'one wrong move' directive suddenly seemed entirely too vague. "How long has that been going on?"

He had to blink and think back to what he'd just said before he answered. "Well, they called me out of retirement for this one last job," Chuck shrugged. "But I bet they'll say that every couple of years. I've seen like twenty Chuck Norris movies that all start that way, so I figure there's precedent."

"What about Rambo IV?"

"What are you talking about, Rambo didn't work for the CIA. He was straight Army."

Jill rolled her eyes. "As much fun as it is debating movie trivia with you, what prompted this? Last we talked you gave me an engagement ring and told me to beat it."

"You did what!" Sarah's voice raged over his earpiece. Chuck winced, and Jill's eyes darted to his earlobe and back up.

"Shit," She said eloquently. "You're wired. I thought, maybe..." Jill shook herself out of her impossible daydream. "So, who is it? Walker or Casey?"

Chuck thought about it, but settled on the truth that sounded like a lie. "Neither," his earpiece went off again, blaring Sarah's voice into his ear. Jill said something at the same time, and he could only make out Sarah's cursing. "Hang on." He said and pulled the earpiece and set it on the table where Jill could see it. Sarah could still hear him through the microphone in his watch. "What did you say?"

"Bullshit," Jill said. "I said, and I say, 'bullshit.' I don't care if you're an active field agent now, no way CIA and NSA let you run around without backup, and like you said: only three agents know why you're looking for me. So that means Sarah or Casey to back you up. Or both. To be Frank I never expected there to be a conversation, I just thought... You know, bullet to the back of the head. Blackness."

"I never said Sarah wasn't here. You said, 'Walker' I corrected you. She's kind of touchy about it lately."

"New cover name? Why would that make her touchy?" Jill asked. Chuck held up his left hand, thumbed the wedding band. "Jesus," She breathed. "She talked you into a cover marriage? I thought better of her, and you for that matter."

"This little catch up session has been fun and all, Jill. But I really don't feel like explaining anything to you. We really need to know what you told the Ring."

Jill sighed. "All business, huh Carmichael?"

Chuck felt his eyes narrow. Had he ever told Jill about his Carmichael identity? He knew he'd played kind of fast and loose, integrating 'Carmichael's' success into his own that first 'not date,' but after that, had she. Yes, at the Expo where he'd taken her to help synthesize the antidote for Casey and all the others, but it was still odd. "Why didn't you call me..." Realization hit him like a physical blow. He stopped, picked up his earpiece. He only had seconds, if that.

"Chuck get out of there." He heard Sarah's voice immediately as he put in the plastic nub.

"Too late." Chuck replied, and slapped Jill hard, cupping his hand to box her left ear. It was a gamble, but most people usually put them in their right ear. Chuck caught the earbud in his left hand, threw it back across his body into the empty street—thank god for small favors—and darted under the table. He managed to tilt the table to shield himself from the blast, but Jill hadn't reacted well, merely toppling over backwards to the slush-laden ground. The explosion wasn't deafening, just sort of a loud noise. Chuck peeked over the edge of the table, spotted a crater maybe six inches across. Of course, there couldn't have been much C4 in an earbud; probably not much worse than a firecracker, but stuffed in someone's ear canal, that would be plenty.

Jill sat up, rubbing her ear he'd slapped.

"Ow, dammit." She said. An SUV screamed around the corner at the far end of the block, fishtailing slightly on a patch of ice.

"Sarah, company." Chuck said into his watch.

"I see them, one second. Damn, there's more coming from the other end of the street. I don't have a decent shot on the second batch."

"Any help is appreciated honey."

"Honey?" Jill said. "What?"

There was a tiny puff of powdered broken glass, cracks spiderwebbed wildly across the windshield of the fast approaching SUV, and then it swerved and plowed head on into a parked car. A beefy looking man in a black suit shot out of the passenger side of the SUV's windshield, flew twenty yards and landed with a sickening thud. A moment later his head exploded like a melon at a Gallagher show. "You take the last two with Roberts, I'm changing positions to get a better angle on the second group."

"Yes, dear." He said, moving out from behind his makeshift blast shield. "You packing?" He asked Jill.

She shook her head. "No, they didn't trust me near a gun."

"Good." He said, tossing her his spare tranq gun. "Neither do I."

"A tranq gun, really?" Jill said, a little miffed, and a little awed. "You never changed. Good for you."

"Damnit." Sarah's voice came over the radio.

"What's wrong?" Chuck said, pressing his finger to his earpiece.

"Change of plans, they've got agents coming up the stairs in my building. Head through the restaurant to alternate egress. I'll meet up with you on the southeast corner of Maple and 22nd." The back door to the SUV popped open and a pair of agents stumbled out, weapons drawn but still dazed. Chuck flashed, but it was over in a second. He didn't think Jill had noticed; he hoped not anyway. They didn't have time for twenty questions. Chuck crouched behind the table, still lying on its side, and sighted in carefully for a moment. He put the first dart in his target's eye at fifty yards. The man screamed and clutched his face and promptly fell over. The second dart just nicked the second man's ear, but the third took him full in the throat, and he fell practically on top of the first agent.

Jill's mouth fell open. Chuck grinned. "Everybody changes." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her after him into the restaurant. "Move it." The inside of the restaurant was buzzing, not quite in full blown panic yet. The sight of two people with guns took care of that. Perfect. Sarah probably would have figured that part out before she went in. Chuck had to tranq a somewhat burly frat boy in a striped polo and khakis, who stood to bar their path, figuring it would save time, but it took three darts to put the kid down. The restaurant erupted in screams again, most predominant was the old standby "You killed him!"

Chuck resisted the urge to wave his gun and yell 'I only tranqed him.' He didn't think anyone would believe him until later, and he'd probably end up some kind of internet meme if they did—who needed that. Where did they think the blood went? Magic happy fairy land? The place missing socks went?

"Honey?" Jill asked again, more insistently while he dragged her toward the back of the seating area. Chuck rolled his eyes.

"You really want to have this talk now?" He said, kicking open the kitchen access door and scaring the staff.

"Uh, _yes_," She tranqed the head chef, who was approaching them with a meat cleaver. Everyone else seemed to back down a little at that.

"Back door?" Chuck asked. Everyone shrugged. "Great, anybody speak English?" His reply was just jibberish until the flash took him. Chuck sighed, and repeated the question in Korean, and got a head bob and a pointing finger. He grabbed Jill's wrist again and bustled out into the back alley.

"What the hell?" She snarled. "When did you learn Chinese?"

"Korean, actually. And obviously, sometime in the last nine to ten years, give or take. I haven't just been sitting in my room moping about you the whole time."

"Obviously," Jill said, anger touching her voice, though what right she had to be mad at _him _for keeping secrets he had no idea. Chuck rolled his eyes, then scanned the alley.

"We've got to move. Rendezvous is Maple and 22nd." Chuck started off but Jill stayed rooted to the spot. "Come on."

"How did you know about the earpiece?"

"They've played that trick before, now come on."

Jill finally started moving and Chuck headed down the alley ahead of her with his tranq gun at the ready.

"Is now a good time to ask..."

"Our two year anniversary is in six months. Our six month old daughter is named Lisa. You want any more details than that, I have to check with the boss. By which I mean Sarah."

Jill's eyes widened and she stopped again. "That's how you tell me you have a kid! What the hell Chuck?"

He frowned, why was she acting like this? "Jill, are you feeling alright? I mean, we broke up a long time ago..."

"You gave me that ring, and..."

"So you could pawn it, and buy some forged identity documents to help you get off the grid. Not... oh great Rao give me strength," Chuck closed his eyes briefly in frustration. "God, Sarah's going to kill me," he paused a beat. "Or more likely you. So I should probably ask now while we have the chance? What did you tell—gak!" A burly arm went around his neck faster than thought, cutting off his air. What the hell was—

* * *

><p>Sarah flipped up the bipod on her M1A. It didn't have the extreme long range accuracy of the military standard M24, but she could get a second round on target faster with the semi-auto Casey had gotten it for her as a housewarming present. Also, she could still hit a half dollar with it at 700 yards with her eyes closed. Well, not technically, but close enough, and it was a useful skill to have; the silencer actually helped the balance if she had to fire from the hip. It was worth the hassle of smuggling the weapons into the country in a diplomatic pouch. She blinked away the extraneous though and Sarah stuck her head into the hall, glanced both directions, then came all the way out, rifle at her shoulder but held angled down by the fore-grip.<p>

She really didn't want to explain a sniper rifle if she came across someone in the hallway carrying the thing, but she felt better with the firepower in hand. She darted for the stairwell, trying to limit the amount of time she was in the open with a semi-automatic rifle. Sarah glanced over the rail instinctively, and saw a man in black leaning out over the railing, pointing a pistol up at her. "Dammit." She growled. Chuck's voice came at her through the earpiece.

"What's wrong?"

"Change of plans, they've got agents coming up the stairs, head through the restaurant to alternate egress. I'll meet up with you on the southeast corner of Maple and 22nd." Sarah said, then she disabled her throat microphone and darted back into the hallway. A maid had come around the corner. She screamed and ran the other way, leaving her cart. Sarah sighed, and slung the rifle around onto her back, pulling her silenced Smith & Wesson. With a grunt that reminded her of Casey, she realized her mistake and kicked the door open, stomped around briefly and then slipped up a couple flights, put away her pistol and set up her sniper rifle on the railing. The man from before ran into her sights and Sarah barely stopped herself from squeezing off a round. "Heard something in the stairwell, no sign of possible shooter." The man was saying into a handset. It took her a moment to recognize the Canadian police uniform. He was a cop. Perfect. No, really. Just— Sarah pulled the trigger, taking the enemy agent in the side of the head as he lined up his shot on the police officer.

The officer spun, spotted the dead man, then looked up and saw Sarah. "Jesus! RCMP! Freeze!"

Sarah shouted back. "I'm—" she wracked her brain. "CSIS."

"Pull the other one lady." He said. "Drop the gun."

"I could have killed you, instead I killed the guy with a gun at your back." She said. "I really need to go back up my partner, and I could totally get away with shooting you in the arm. Be a lot of paperwork, but I could do it."

"You have ID?"

"Technically, I don't exist. So, no?"

"In the CSIS?" He brought his gun down with a chuckle. "If you tell me that, do you have to kill me?"

Sarah took rifle by the barrel in her left hand, and snatched her tranq gun out and aimed downrange, put a dart into his neck. "No, but it's probably best if you're not in the line of fire."

She darted back down and searched the Ring agent's body, found his Ring phone and his bluetooth, and also a tactical radio set much like her own. Shit, were they listening in? She hadn't fired a shot, so how had they found her so fast? Sarah needed to figure this out, but now wasn't the time. She needed to get to Chuck. That was, as always, priority number one. She continued down the stairs, fitting the enemy radio into her ear, but didn't bother with the throat microphone. At the third floor landing, she checked her iPhone's ChuckDar, he was still in the alley half a block away. And stationary. If she had a view out then she might even be able get a visual. It was a risk, the man she'd killed was likely supposed to report in on his location soon. If they had overheard the new directions she'd given Chuck... Sarah smashed out a nearby window with her rifle butt and leaned out, balancing the magazine on the windowsill, and aimed down toward where Chuck should be, squinting through the high grade match scope. Dammit. Her breath caught and she timed the shot between her heartbeats. There was no way she was missing this one. The second one, she could care less.

"Drop it, Roberts." The second Ring agent behind her growled.

"Shit." She said, dropping the tranq gun. "Easy. I got you guys Carmichael, just like we talked about."

"Nice," Chuck said. So much for his fake death.

"Please, I can't bargain for my life?" Jill shot back. "Or are they going to magically—" The Ring agent behind Chuck collapsed in a cloud of red mist. A half a second later, there was a thwack of impact behind her and the gun pressing into her kidney vanished. "Wha—"

"Tell Jill to get that stupid look off her face, and move or the next one will be in her ass." Sarah said in his ear.

"Good to see you're always watching out for me, baby," Chuck said. "We're on our way to the Rendezvous."

"Negative. We may be on a party line. I'll feed you new coordinates on alternate channels. There's at least two more out there, so check six for once in your life, sweetie."

"Dammit," Chuck said and pulled out his earpiece, crushing it under his boot.

"Trouble in paradise, Chuck?"

"They were listening on our comms."

"How exactly," Jill said. "Shouldn't they encrypted?"

"No time to argue with you. Sarah says ditch it, I ditch it. If I'd let her run every single aspect of my life earlier we wouldn't be in this mess, so."

"You sound bitter." Jill said.

Chuck laughed. "That's not because of Sarah."

"Then what..."

Chuck merely rolled his eyes at her and checked his phone. Jill grunted. "We've got a new rendezvous. Knew there was a reason I married her." Jill grumbled something under her breath that didn't sound particularly complimentary, and held one of the dead agents' guns out to him.

"You going to tell me where the rendezvous is?"

"Of course not." Chuck said. "Follow me, and please don't shoot me in the back."

"I'm glad to see you've learned to read a woman's moods."

"You can thank Sarah for that too," Chuck said. "She also— hold up." They ducked behind a dumpster.

"What?" Jill demanded. "What did you see?"

"Shh..." Chuck said, turning to check behind him. "Hear that?"

"I don't—"

"Here, take these." Chuck tossed Jill both his tranq gun and the Ring agent's stolen gun. "And stay down." Stepping out of the alley, he shrugged and put up his hands.

"Hey guys." He said. "Charles Carmichael? I hear you were looking for me?" There were two agents coming down the alley, and three more coming up behind.

"Where's your sniper?"

"Haven't the foggiest." Chuck said. "If you could tell me how you broke our encryption, I could get her back on the line and ask her."

"Sure, and you'll just come along quietly?"

"Damn it Chuck, quit showing off for your bitch ex-damn-girlfriend." Sarah said from the fire escape three hundred yards back. "Oh, right. I made him ditch his earpiece." She rolled her eyes and dug out her phone. He wanted to show off, two could play that game. It rang a couple of times.

"Okay. This is embarrassing," Chuck said. "You mind if I answer it? It's probably my wife. She worries."

The agents surrounding Chuck exchanged glances. One rolled his eyes and motioned with his gun. Chuck hit the slider and put the phone to his ear. "Now's really not the time honey."

"Move your head to the right, I don't have a shot on the one directly behind you."

"Now really, honey. I think we'd all be better off if you held off on that until we talked about it some more."

"Talk, talk, talk," She said. "Casey would love this mission."

"Casey would be tempted to shoot me instead of the bad guys." Chuck said. The Ring agents spun to look outward, scanning rooftops, realizing who he must be talking to and he flashed.

Chuck spun, kicking out behind him to the right and ducking down. The one who had been directly behind Chuck crumpled, a red splotch blooming in the center of his chest. "Damn it! Where—"

Chuck continued the spin, launching himself at the next agent to his right. Another Ring agent went down, and Chuck heard the bark of a pistol from back up the alley. He hit the deck and a moment later when the gunshots ended, he hauled himself back to his feet. Only one of the Ring agents was still breathing, the others were painting the snow slurry around their feet red. Jill held a pair of pistols. God, was every woman he'd ever met a hardened killer?

"Now can we talk?" Jill asked as they made their way down the alley, pulling her coat more tightly around her against the frigid winds.

Chuck shrugged. "Have I mentioned lately how much your plans scare me, Sarah?" He said into the phone. "So where are we actually meeting?"

"Hang on. _That_ was a _plan?_" Jill shouted.

"She texted it to me."

"Tell her to keep it down if she doesn't want me to shoot her," Sarah's voice said from his iPhone speaker. "They've still got agents in the area."

"Uh, right. Sarah respectfully asks that you shut it."

"Respectfully," Jill said, hardly bothering to mask her disbelief.

"Well, there was a threat of grievous bodily harm in there somewhere too." Chuck said. "Now shush. I'm on the phone. So, Sarah. Meeting place?"

"Well, we can't take Jill anywhere people might recognize us, and any comms beyond secure tapdance phones, which we don't have access to right now could be compromised. Motel?"

"Someplace outside the city, might be a long drive. You trust Jill in the car with me for that long?"

"I trust _you_. It's _her _I'm worried about. Get out of here, and we'll have to go back to emergency protocol from now on. You remember that?"

"Yeah," Chuck said. They'd used a shared message board account to pass each other messages from public computers. He didn't relish the idea of finding an internet cafe. "And I'm google mapsing the route, so I expect you on time or with a whopper of an excuse. One that does not involve bears."

"You really should let Awesome try to forget about that. Give it like five years and then hit him with it again when he least suspects it. You have no sense of comedic timing. You and Ellie both, just black holes of comedy."

"Come on, I'm funny."

"Not the same thing, Hon. You can be funny and still have no sense of timing," He could hear her rolling her eyes, and he grinned. "You know I love you. But I know I'm the one who always gets lost and you're the one who passed spy school, so I will defer to your judgment as in all things, and use google maps as well. Love you."

Jill made a cracking motion. "Whp-kssh!"

Chuck ended the call with a smirk. "Just the one time; it was an experiment," Jill scowled in disgust and Chuck grinned. "You want to steal the car or should I?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Next chapter will be taking place roughly parallel to this one in time, just in Detroit. And then I think we may alternate for a while between Casey Kevin and the others, and Chuck & Sarah and Jill's misadventures on their road trip through Canada. Then we'll move into the final act... with all kind of explosions and such. Like I like to do.


	19. Chapter 19

So, this chapter, I explain some of what Casey was up to while Chuck and Sarah were off playing kissy-face in Arizona at the end of vs themselves. Also in this chapter: explosions.

* * *

><p>Chapter 19: When the Levee Breaks<p>

**Detroit, MI**

**Jan 5**

**1300**

"Well, fancy meeting you here, Colonel Casey," The female FBI agent who met them at the airport said in greeting. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

The recruits exchanged confused glances. "Your real name is Casey?" Jarod said.

"No," the Colonel said. "Just a prior cover."

"And what are you doing in an _FBI_ windbreaker?" the woman said.

Casey sighed. "Alright, O'Bannon," he said. "What the hell are you doing _here_?"

"Walsh and I got transferred after that thing down in Florida. Where's Carmichael and Walker?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Would you stop throwing around names like that please?"

"Who are Carmichael and Walker supposed to be?" Laura whispered.

"From context clues, I think it's Chuck and Sarah," Danny said.

"Quiet, children, the adults are talking," Casey snapped, he grabbed O'Bannon's arm and walked her away a few paces, hopefully out of earshot of the recruits. "We faked our deaths, thanks for ruining that for us."

"Well, I figured that much out on my own, thank you! You couldn't call and give me a heads-up you weren't actually dead? It's been almost six months!"

"It's not like that. I couldn't tell anyone. We didn't know who we could trust. That's the entire purpose of faking your death!"  
>"You should have trusted <em>me<em>!" she shot back.

"Urgh," Casey said. Lady feelings. "Did you tell anybody else, Kate?"

"I didn't know it was _you_ until you landed! I only took this assignment because the brief said there might be gun-play. And don't think I'm not still mad at you. But I'm dying of curiosity, why are you pretending to be FBI?"

"Who says I'm pretending?"

"Are we going to play the answer questions with questions game all day?"

"Would you like to?"

"No. I want to know what the hell's going on. Why did you fake your death?"

"You're not cleared for that."

"Come on, seriously?"

"We've got intelligence that a shipment of Harpoon Block II anti-ship missiles is being sold to some very shady customers later tonight. You're supposed to have surveillance on the guy doing the selling. I think we should concentrate on that?"

"Fine but this conversation isn't over," O'Bannon grumbled and they moved to rejoin the rest of the team. All of whom, Casey realized now, were wearing or fighting down grins of one description or another. Casey mentally toned the nature of those grins down to 'cheese-eating'; it made him feel better.

"Oh, what now?"

"We, uh... all know how to read lips," Kevin said.

"Hiya, Kate," Jarod said with a wave. Laura elbowed him in the ribs, but his grin widened anyway, nearly taking in his ears.

O'Bannon's partner met them in the parking lot and threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "This guy again!" when he saw Casey.

Danny shook his head. "Man, Colonel, what did you get up to in Florida?"

"That's classified," Casey said. But then he shrugged. "What the hell; My ex-CO from back when I was young and stupid Jarhead tracked down an old flame, threatened to kill her if I didn't play along with his plans. Walsh and O'Bannon here nearly ruined my entire op when they came crashing in."

"Please!" O'Bannon said. "Who was it blew up that building again?"

"I'm sure I have no idea _what _you're talking about," Casey said. "And that was in no way my fault. You're the ones who were too busy trying to arrest me to see that the real bad guys were escaping. I needed a distraction."

"And then when we finally sorted things out, he stole what prisoners somehow survived the whole fiasco out of secure lockup when we weren't looking," Walsh said.

"They're better off at Guantanamo anyway," Casey said.

"You blew up a building?" Jarod said.

"It's not like there were people in it," Casey shrugged. "And it was a small building."

"Small-_ish_," Walsh corrected.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side, Colonel," Laura said.

"Aw, he's just a big ol' teddy bear once you get to know him," Kevin said.

"Really?" Danny said in disbelief.

"No!" Walsh and Kevin said in unison, just as O'bannon said "A bit." And stared at her.

Casey slouched down in his seat and glowered at the world in general.

"Our surveillance team spotted them bring in two 18 wheelers, tractors and trailers both, eight hours ago. But we didn't have probable cause, to go in. And thank god we didn't, because we never cottoned onto the missile angle. Your guy's on our watch-list, but beyond that..."

"So, we know for sure the missiles are in that warehouse at least."

"Could be decoys," Danny argued.

"These guys aren't sophisticated enouth for that," Walsh said, "they barely have rudimentary countersurveillance training, and they only have one sentry out. FLIR confirms their locations."

"There's five total," O'bannon went on. "They don't move around a lot, but we can't risk gunfire in there setting off those warheads. Four Harpoons would be enough to level the place _and _us way out here."

"You have builder's plans of the place," Kevin said.

"Yeah, hang on," O'bannon dug them out and Kevin unfurled them on the hood of the SUV.

Kevin's fingers trailed across the plans as he thought. "Okay," Walsh said, putting down red marks where the four mostly stationary men were clustered. "FLIR looks like they're sitting down. Maybe playing cards or something. Fifth is on a five minute patrol loop around the cargo ramps."

Kevin nodded slowly. "You're right about avoiding a firefight, Harpoon's are tougherr than a lot of things, but I'd rather not take the risk if we go in, Colonel."

Casey grunted in agreement. "You've had an idea, Woods. Out with it."

He turned to O'bannon, "What kind of less-lethal options have you got? Bean bag rounds, tear gas?"

"Couple crates of nine-bangers, and standard stun grenades. Plus we've got some experimental stuff."

"Yeah, experimental how?"

"12 gauge taser rounds. "

"Are those exactly what they sound like?" Kevin grinned. "Okay, Colonel. I've got a preliminary Op-plan for you."

"Care to elaborate?"

"We'll need to order a pizza or two," he said, and explained on for a minute. Walsh and O'bannon were appalled, but Casey's grin widened. "Approved," he said.

46 Minutes later

The sentry was being careless. Kevin didn't really blame the man, since it was midafternoon and he normally wouldn't have tried anything like this without cover of darkness. But, it was careless all the same. Danny and Jarod held the line Kevin dangled from as he made his descent from the roof, coming down slowly and silently like a spider on its web above the sentry. The man had stopped his patrol to enjoy a cigarette and the second-hand smoke wafted up, making Kevin's nostrils twitch. He fought off a cough through sheer grit and determination and flipped inverted, coming the last fifteen feet with his hands and face foremost. He wasn't accustomed to taking a sentry alive in situations like this either, and instead of a wire garotte, he had the stungun in the pouch sewn to the front of his tac-gear in-hand.

The sentry spotted Kevin's shadow at the last possible moment and turned, mouth coming open in astonishment even as Kevin jammed 50,000 volts into the side of the man's neck.

The sentry went limp and would have collapsed if not for Kevin's grip on his collar, awkwardly holding the man upright. They couldn't afford to take the risk that someone inside might hear the sound of the sentry's body hitting the concrete.

Still the man's dead weight was enough that Kevin nearly let out a strangled grunt of exertion as he held him up one handed and fumbled the stun-gun back into its pouch. Jarod and Danny lowered him the last few feet until Kevin and the briefly disabled sentry to the concrete.

Kevin comandeered the sentry's small handheld walkie-talkie and bound his wrists and ankles with zip-cuffs. The man was just starting to come around when Kevin jabbed the morphine syrette into his vein. "Sleep tight, Buddy," Kevin whispered. Their tranq guns had somehow gotten lost on the flight from DC, along with half their CIA-issued surveillance gizmos, so the team made-do with tranquilizers borrowed from FBI gear.

He slipped the spare harness around the unconscious sentry and clipped the line into place before he looked up and gave Jarod and Danny the thumbs-up. The snoozing guard inched his way up into the air and the pair hauled him over the lip onto the roof soundlessly, before sending the line back down to Kevin. If one of the targets in the warehouse came looking for their buddy, it wouldn't do the team any good to have the man found, so he went upstairs with the team. Thankfully, the end of the warehouse the sentry had chosen for his smoke hadn't had any windows, or the entire plan would've had to be changed.

Kevin took Danny's extended hand to help him over the lip and paused to key his throat microphone. "Sentry secured, charges in place," he said softly. "How's it coming with that Pizza, John?"

"Thirty seconds," Casey grumbled unhappily. He was decked out in a somewhat ill-fitting Pizza-Guyz shirt and baseball hat, which proudly announced his name as 'Ettienne,' and what kind of name was that for a person of either gender? Stupid Frenchie Pizza delivery boy.

Casey approached the 'front' door to the warehouse, and knocked vigorously. "Pizza delivery," he said, raising his voice to carry through the heavy door. Standard breaching tactics wouldn't work, the door's construction was too heavy. And an explosive breach, which was what the metal framed portal was just _asking _for, had too high a possibility of setting off one of the warheads. Apparently they were a little touchy, as far as that went, which he didn't find to reassuring. After all, wasn't the Navy supposed to use these things? He was a marine, and he still held his fair share of thinly veiled contempt for the average 'swabbie.'

He shook the thought away as his call was answered. "We didn't order any!"

So predictable. "I got the name right here, hang on" Casey said, digging in his pocket. There was a peephole and he had to make his performance believable. Up on the roof, Danny tossed Kevin the sentry's wallet and he glanced at the man's driver's license before passing the info down to Casey. "Terry Court. Paid in full by credit card. Visa number..." he pretended to read from the phony receipt in his hand while Kevin fed him the actual numbers off their captive's credit card.

"Ah, never mind, we'll take 'em," the voice said from inside, and Casey heard locks being undone. He reached into the insulated pizza bag and pulled out the top pie. "Hey, what toppings did Terry get?"

"Uh, meatlovers', it looks like," Casey said, opening the box to demonstrate.

The door swung open and Casey stuffed the pizza into the man's greedy hands.

"What about that second one," the man said, already pulling a slice from the first pizzaand half-turning to share the bounty with his compatriots.

Casey grinned and keyed his own radio, giving his team the go-code. "Pineapple," he said.

He ripped the second pizza box open. Only it held, not that most controversial of pizzas, but a full dozen military-grade nine-bangers. The nine-banger was an evolution of the standard Flashbang grenade which set off, as the name implied, nine individual concussions, spaced out randomly, one every half second or so. Seeded in among them where half a dozen each larger standard flashbang and stun grenades, all of which had had their pins yanked loose when Casey ripped the top off the pizza box.

In the same motion, Casey hauled his arms far apart, sending the individual grenades scattering into the warehouse a split-second after he announced the jump off point.

The pizza munching goon at the door was caught flatfooted by the maneuver and stared in mute horror for barely two seconds. Ordinarily he would have recovered in time, but Casey had timed the fuses of all the grenades personally, and they started going off precisely two and one tenth seconds after he spewed them into the warehouse.

That gave Casey ample time to cover his ears and close his eyes against the cacophony. Their resident expert had assured him that the flashbangs wouldn't be powerful enough to harm the missiles, as long as they were still packed away in the trailers. Laura had confirmed that for them by peeking through a skylight before they'd even gone forward with the plan.

Even as the distraction devices exploded in and around their targets' faces, the detcord the team had planted around the skylights blasted the glass clear of their frames and the team rappelled in.

Casey dug his p226 out of the waistband of his pants, but by the time the smoke had cleared, Jarod was already calling the all clear, and all the targets were down with taser-slugs in their backs. Casey grinned. Well, even if he hadn't gotten to fire a shot, he'd never forget the look on the man's face who'd been unfortunate enough to answer the door. That was the kind of memory that kept him warm at night.

* * *

><p><strong>FBI<strong>

**Detroit Field Office**

**1700**

Of course the FBI had 'issues' with letting the Colonel loose on the prisoners, and he'd dealt with Walsh and O'bannon enough times over the last couple years that he was prepared ahead of time. "Okay," he said. "So, if I can't use any physical enhanced interrogation techniques-"

"Torture," Walsh put in.

Casey shrugged. "What about psychological?"

"How so?"

"We play this over a bullhorn in the next interrogation room," he said, brandishing a casette tape. "And then I go in with our prisoner wiping corn syrup mixed with red dye #40 off my hands."

Walsh and O'bannon looked fairly shocked, but recovered quickly. "Do we have time to wait while you find..."

Kevin poked his head in and waved a bottle of red liquid. "What's the hold-up? You explain yet?"

"You planned this ahead of time." O'bannon said accusingly.

"Well. Yeah," Casey said.

The prisoners gave up all their secrets, even down to their petty childhood misdemeanors, when Casey forgot and licked a glob of syrup carelessly off his wrist.

* * *

><p>They'd managed to get the NRO to release satellite imagery of the place where the prisoners had been intending to meet Frost for the sale, and O'bannon had sent a junior agent rooting through the records on the city planner's database. The plans for all the buildings surrounding the abandoned parking lot where the missiles were to have been exchanged for 8 million dollars lay spread out over the conference table and Colonel Casey grunted sourly.<p>

"Concur," Kevin said a hair less grumpy than his team leader. "It's a mess."

"How so?" O'bannon said. "We've got good line of sight, and you said the National Reconnaisance Office was working on thermal scans."

"You tell her, kid," Casey said.

"That works equally well for the opposition. Hand-held FLIR isn't as good as the overhead version, but if they see more than five warm bodies, they'll know the jig is up. Our objective, codename Frost, is ex-CIA. They know all the tricks."

"They? You don't even have a gender to go on?"

"Which just goes to show how good he or she is," Kevin said. "I don't mean this to sound like a lecture, but the opposition will likely have spotters out, and those sight-lines you mention might just get us killed instead of helping. We're going to have to keep your FBI teams farther out than you're going to like. Probably a mile or more given the terrain. And that means, the five who go in are going to have to hold off a numerically superior opponent long enough for you to sweep in behind. It's got the makings of a bloodbath on either or both sides if we're not extra sneaky."

"The opposition," Walsh rolled his eyes, "You sound like we're going into combat, not arresting somebody."

"Agent Walsh, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what's going to happen. We want them alive; they don't have any reason to feel the same compunctions," Colonel Casey said.

"Can we at least brief HRT and SWAT as to what's going on, before we drag them along on this one?"

"No," Kevin said adamantly, and the rest of the team nodded along.

"Why not, damn it?"

"Because," Casey said cooly. "These people have penetrated FBI before. You remember Sacramento?"

"Ugh, those guys again?"

"So, we have to keep certain things to ourselves," Casey went on. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to turn down more boots on the ground. As we said, Frost's people will be expecting five people. So that's what we'll have to show them. Kevin, I'm going to want you on a rooftop somewhere-"

"Probably better if I stay indoors, Colonel," Kevin said. "I guess I could curl up under a thermal blanket, but seems simpler just to make my perch in one of the offices in here." He tapped an abandoned warehouse that had, according to the plans, briefly doubled as office space. "If they've got any kind of over-watch, they might spot me on the roof. Hell, they were willing to throw 8 mil at the bozos we just took down, what's another million or two for a civilian helicopter? We can't warn them away, or officially restrict the airspace without blowing the element of surprise."

"If we keep the outer elements that far away, you'll be awful exposed out there, Casey," O'bannon said.

"Well, we've got two empty trailers to put some surprises into, even if we can't pack them full of SWAT since they'll likely be making thermal scans."

"What'd you have in mind?"

He told them, and the FBI agents weren't particularly reassured by the wolfish grin on the Colonel's face.

* * *

><p><strong>2100<strong>

Kevin still wasn't exactly comfortable with the tactical situation; he didn't like having to wait for the other side to make it's moves. The whole exploding Pizza incident actually underscored his concerns. The Intersect team's deployment mirrored that of the unfortunate would-be arms dealers they had taken down earlier in the day moreso than it seemed on first blush.

Certainly, they were more prepared than their opponents had been that afternoon, and they had a fair number of really nasty surprises waiting for Frost and the rest. But at the same time, Laura Danny and Jarod were too exposed. That was inevitable given the tactical scenario Frost's meeting demanded, and that was it's own worry. Casey was back in what would have been their 'getaway' vehicle, if they were the arms dealers they were posing as, while the others had driven the 18-wheelers and Kevin had set up with his sniper rifle on overwatch.

The FBI cordon was closer to two miles away than one, but they'd be coming with lights and sirens the whole way once they got the signal, and Kevin expected they'd make it in roughly 90 seconds from the word go.

The SWAT captain they'd brought along was unhappy for entirely different reasons. He wanted a dozen sharpshooters on the roofs, claiming that they were overly concerned with the bad guys having any kind of high-tech response. He'd even called Casey a paranoid lunatic. Which, Kevin considered judiciously, was at least half true. It didn't make him wrong, however, which was why Kevin had set up his position as he had.

Instead of the rooftop perch his SWAT counterpart wished for, Kevin lay prone on an abandoned desk he'd moved around the office. He'd laid out his shooting mat and covered himself with a thermal blanket. It was cold enough in the building that he didn't particularly mind the extra heat, and the reflective surface would help mask some of his thermal signature if the bad guys were using FLIR as they expected.

He scanned the meeting sight with his low-light binoculars instead of his rifle scope, since the thermal scope gave him a headache if he used it for too long at one go.

"Tangos coming in. Three vehicles. Looks like two SUVs and a sedan," Kevin said, keying the microphone clipped to his collar.

"I see them," Casey said. "Any idea on number of foot mobiles?"

"Hang on, switching to thermal," Kevin said and set aside the binoculars. He set his cheek against the stock of his rifle, a heavily self-modified M21A4, which had only a passing resemblance to the base M14 from which it had been developed. "Four each in the SUVs, just one and a driver in the sedan. Make it ten total. I'm going to lose line of sight on them in a minute when they get behind the big rigs."

"Acknowledged," Casey said. "If this goes bad, we're going to try to funnel them between the rigs. Should give you a decent field of fire."

"I remember the ops plan as well as you do, John," Kevin said. "Off target."

Casey grunted, but didn't bother to send it over his radio; the FBI was on the same circuit, out of necessity. They hadn't had nearly enough of the special CIA issue encrypted sets, and even though the FBI had encrypted radios, they only used commercial grade encryption, which NSA could break, given the right set of circumstances. But that wasn't his primary concern at the moment. The small convoy pulled to a halt perpindicular to the two rigs, still flanking the sedan. Casey had a view of the front SUV, but was obstructed from seeing the others.

"Sedan passengers staying put. Even money that's Frost, hanging back and letting the lackeys handle the exchange," Kevin said.

"Okay, this is it," Casey said, "game faces on kiddos. Looks like the driver on the lead SUV is hanging back too."

"Crap," Kevin said. "SWAT command, you didn't happen to ignore the ops plan and send a squad up to my roost did you?"

"Of course not," the man said.

"Then I think we got trouble. Somebody just set off the laser tripwires I planted in the stairwells. You shoulda let me bring the Claymores, John."

"Okay everybody, codeword is Rubicon. Execute now. Kevin, you're on your own."

Walsh slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the FBI Suburban rocketed forward in a squeal of burning rubber. O'bannon checked the chamber on her smg and nodded to herself. "ETA 60 seconds, Colonel," she said. "We just need you to keep them occupied until shit- that's aspike strip! Stop! Stop! All teams, stop your vehicles!"

Walsh swerved in a futile attempt to avoid the hazard, and managed to only lose the driver's side tires. Radio calls came pouring in; only one response team managed to evade the spikes entirely.

"Son of a bitch!" Walsh punched the steering wheel.

Kevin tuned out the frantic radio calls and backed off the rifle before sidling off the desk. His rifle was set up for long range, and he didn't relish the thought of firing from the hip. He had other optics in his kit bag, but with tangos in the stairwell, he didn't have time to make a swap. He left the rifle up on its bipod and draped the thermal blanket over his duffel to make at least a rudimentary distraction. He flashed back momentarily to stuffing pillows under the covers as a kid when he'd tried to sneak out. It hadn't fooled his parents then, but it might buy him a precious second.

Kevin drew his sidearm and shuffled quickly across the empty office space toward the stairwell. If he timed it right he might- no the door was already opening.

He started to fall into a shooting stance, when they slid a hockey-puck style flashbang through the cracked door.

Kevin moved without thinking about it; instinct took over and he kicked the thing right back the way it had come. He'd been a pretty decent midfielder in high school, and the flashbang skimmed along the floor and straight back through the slot.

Someone cursed. Kevin pressed the side of his head into his shoulder and cupped his free right hand over his ear and eyes as he charged forward.

He went into a baseball slide just as the flashbang went off, blasting the door wide open. Kevin's hands fell into a secure grip on his 45 and he opened fire. The attackers had been stacked up to charge through the door in a blitzkrieg assault right out of every urban warfare scenario ever, but with their surprise blown it just bunched them up.

Kevin blazed away, hardly needing to aim. He did anyway, and his first few shots took down two men in black tactical gear. The others fell back as Kevin emptied his 45 uselessly into the drywall.

He grit his teeth and rolled forward out of the slide. Kevin's right hand came off and whipped around to the small of his back for his backup just as his momentum carried him into the edge of the door frame.

The short-barreled revolver looked relatively unassuming, but instead of single rounds, each pull of the trigger fired a .410 gauge shotshell of Kevin's own invention. Buckshot and white phosphorous powder filled each 2 3/4 inch round, sending 15 foot plumes of white hot flame and molten lead downrange. In such close quarter the results were predictable.

Coupled with the return to sender he'd pulled on the flashbang, the surviving attackers never knew what hit them. Kevin had to drop the revolver after he'd fired all five rounds; the barrel was too hot to risk re-holstering it.

* * *

><p>"Codeword is Rubicon. Execute now," the order came through Laura, Danny and Jarod's earpieces simultaneously, which was their cue to whip out their sidearms and tkae Frost into custody. The biggest problem with that was that Frost was still in the sedan, if that was even Frost in the first place. The next biggest problem was that the three men from the lead SUV were between them and the objective.<p>

Laura was faster to her pistol than Danny or Jarod, but even as the Colonel's warning flashed out, the situation became untenable. Frost's approaching henchmen were already going for weapons of their own, and Casey's broadcast was a split-second drag on their response time to the threat.

Danny was hit just as Laura cleared her 9mm from itss holster. He jerked and seized in place for a moment as the electric current from the taser locked his muscles, and then he began to collapse.

Laura dove to the side, Tackling Jarod. The man tasked with tasing Laura followed the movement and wound up hitting Danny as well. Laura and Jarod wound up under one of the trailers. "Ow."

"Colonel, we're under fire," Laura keyed her transmitter. "Danny's down."

"Keep your heads down," Casey said. "I'm bringing the thunder."

The two 18-wheeler trailers they'd brought had been outfitted specially by the Colonel with the aid of the rest of the team and a fair percentage of the Detroit FBI field office's total remaining stockpile of flashbangs. False panels in the sides of the two trailers blasted free on pyro charges, spewing primed flashbangs into the narrow alley between the trailers and lighting up the night. If Kevin hadn't been having problems of his own right then, things would have gone differently for the three gunmen making up the enemy vangaurd. As it was, they were blinded and temporarily disoriented while Laura and Jarod crawled back toward the rear of the trailers, where the read doors had opened to spill out heavier weapons for them to use in a pinch.

One of the Ring SUVs squealed around the outside of the trailer, and Jarod's radio crackled. "I said stay down."

He blinked and dragged Laura back into the dubious safety underneath the trailer.

A second SUV screeched to a halt, swerving broadside to the Ring's vehicle. Colonel Casey poked the muzzle of a 40mm grenade launcher out the driver's side window with a grin, and put a round through the Ring SUV's windshield. It was yet another flashbang, not a standard high explosive, but that was still enough to send the vehicle careening out of control. The SUV smashed sidelong into a dead lamp post and flipped up onto its side in a shower of sparks. Casey reached back and got the rear door open. "Get in!"

Laura and Jarod were still a little shaky from their proximty to all those flashbangs, but they managed to haul themselves in. Casey handed laura his grenade launcher. "Careful with that," he said. "Got five more shots left, but the last one ain't no flashbang. Let's see if we can't grab Frost before things get _really_ FUBAR."

The SUV lurched back into motion and rounded the front of the parked rigs. Two men were dragging a linp form between them, and stuffed him into the back of the sedan.

"They've got Danny!" Laura said.

The other men from the second Ring SUV turned and hosed Casey's Suburban with automatic fire, just long enough for the sedan to get moving, before they followed suit.

Cracks spread in the windshield, but the bulletproofing held. "Wait, I thought you said he was dead?" Casey said.

"No, they tasered him!"

"Shit," Jarod said from the backseat. "They must have wanted to nab an Inter-"

"You realize you're on an open comm-line?" Kevin's voice interjected.

"You alright, Woods?"

"Peachy. I don't have a shot on the fleeing vehicles, though. You're on your own."

"Maybe not," a new voice intruded. "This is FBI, we're coming up on Franklin street, if you can herd them our way..."

Casey grunted. "You heard the man," he said, tapping the grenade launcher in Laura's hands. "Get herding."

She blinked in shock, and then nodded, leaning out the window and lobbing 40mm grenades at the fleeing vehicles. They lacked the shrapnel and high explosives necessary to halt the vehicles, but at least they made the drivers flinch. For a moment, it looked like it might even work.

The chase took them in between two warehouses, and the wall belched a plume of smoke and rubble, before producing a pair of Humvees, complete with roof-mounted machineguns. The new arrivals turned across the trailing Suburban's path and Casey stomped his brakes.

"Cover!" he shouted. Laura ignored him, and emptied the last two rounds from her grenade launcher. As promised, the last round was standard high explosive, and detonated just behind the roof-gunner, sending shrapnel all through the HMWV. The surviving gunner opened fire with his heavy. 50 caliber machinegun.

Casey grabbed Laura around the waist and tried to yank her back inside the protection of the armor. But that armor wasn't built to stop such heavy firepower. The windshield crumpled under the assault.

"Under heavy fire, need assistance!" Jarod shouted over the comms. It would only be seconds before the 50 cal ripped them all to shreds.

"Acknowledged," someone said over the radio. The heavy gun went silent, but lighter rifle fire continued. Casey risked peeking up over the dash. The FBI had finally joined the party, but they were still waiting on the bulk of their reinforcements.

"FBI, what's your status?"

"We're pinned down until more teams get here, what about you?"

"Everybody alright? Roll call!"

"I'm fine, sir," Jarod said.

"Laura? Come on, that's not funny. Shit!" Casey cradled her head when it lolled bonelessly to the side and felt for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Jarod get the first aid kit, I don't know how bad she's hurt."

* * *

><p>Kevin was breathing hard when he finally caught up to Casey and the others' Suburban, and he didn't have oxygen to spare wasting breath on expletives as he padded up to the rear of Casey's crippled vehicle. "So," he said, more calmly than he felt, poking his head through a shattered window. "They get away?"<p>

"No," Jarod said. "They drove right into the hole those humvees blasted in the wall; must have been waiting for us. How'd we miss that on thermal?"

"They've been planning this for a long time," Kevin said. "I hear that right they've got a hostage?"

"And Laura's hit too," Casey said. "Rest of the FBI's still at least a couple minutes out."

"FBI, you need a hand?" Kevin asked over his radio.

"They're turtling up behind the armor," Came the response. "If you got close enough to make a difference, they'd spot you."

"Colonel," Kevin said. "I want to go after Danny."

"They're gonna be watching the hole they busted in the wall."

"I got semtex. I'll make a new door," he said. "Jarod, you up?"

"I dropped my gun when Laura tackled me."

"M4 under the back seat," Casey said.

* * *

><p>"On three."<p>

"Hang on, on three or three then go."

"On three," Kevin said. "Three!"

The shaped charge blew a tidy hole in the wall, but much smaller than anticipated. It was only a two foot or so oblong gap in the wall. The wall itself was nearly a foot thick and frigid air rushed out of the breach.

"Guess we know how they fooled the thermal sweep. Refrigerated warehouse," Jarod said.

"You notice the other odd thing?"

"What?"

"Nobody shooting at us when we didn't rush through the breach right away," he keyed his radio. "John, something funny's going on."

"Tell me later, kid, I'm kind of up to my elbows in it at the moment."

Kevin grimaced. "Alright, after you."

Jarod managed to crawl through the breach without drawing any fire, and the mystery deepened. Kevin brough up the rear and scanned the interior. There were a pair of abandoned folding tables and chairs, replete with old takeout boxes and empty soda cans. Ash trays piled high with cigarette butts and poker hands abandoned midgame completed the tableaux. "Been waiting here for days by the looks of these," Jarod said, and Kevin nodded curtly. "Like before _we_ even knew we were coming."

"I know," he said simply. There wasn't much to say to that, "Come on."

They found the SUV and the sedan in the back, doors open and abandoned. "Where could they have- uh, Kevin?"

"Yeah..."

"They've been planning this for a long time..." Jarod said, pointing with his weapon. A hole had been chipped in the concrete between the two vehicles, opening to a dark tunnel.

"John, we got something," he said. "They had time to dig an escape tunnel. This whole thing was a false flag engineered to capture at least one of our team members." Kevin had to choose his words carefully, avoiding mention of the Intersect.

"How did they know we would be here, though?" Jarod said. "We just found out yesterday."

"Take the thread all the way to the end," Kevin said. "We found the data that sent us here from the consulate, but we got the lead that sent us _there_ from Carrington's computer, which means..."

"Carrington was set up..." Jarod said. "And that means we've still got a mole problem."

Kevin keyed his radio. "John, I'm going down the rabbit-hole after them."

"Negative, we can't risk you getting caught as well."

"Leave no man behind, Casey," Kevin said and cut the connection. "How 'bout it, Jarod? You in?"

"Damn right."

Kevin flicked on the flashlight mounted on the foregrip of his rifle, shining it down the hole. The beam of light revealed a digital readout, counting down. "Run!"

They managed to get the abandoned SUV between them and the tunnel entrance before the explosion ripped through the warehouse.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: That's not how this chapter was originally going to end. I cut out the foot-chase/gunfight through the tunnel, because this chapter was already getting pretty action-saturated.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: On the Run

**Battlefords Inn Motel**

**North Battleford, Saskatchewan**

**Canada**

**0200  
><strong>

The knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and Chuck padded over to the window, peering out through a gap in the curtains.

"Finally," he said once he'd gotten the chain undone, "How'd it go?"

Sarah shrugged and slipped by him, brushing a kiss onto his cheek. Windblown snow tried to drift through the door before he could close it. "It's worse than we thought," she said. "Casey and the others' mission was a setup. I doubt Frost ever came within fifty miles of the place. Somehow, they knew exactly who was come a-calling. Danny was captured, Laura's in the ICU, and Casey's convinced we've still got a mole problem. He and Jarod are on their way back to DC; Kevin's staying at the hospital to watch Laura's back."

"So, you got through to the DDO?"

"Not directly," Sarah said. "Since Mags is babysitting for us, I gave her a new emergency contact protocol, like our old Newsarama one from a couple years ago. When I got my new phone I dropped her a status update and she gave me Casey's whole After Action Report. Bill says we need to lie low until we know what Jill told Volkoff and the Ring. Then we'll set up a meeting with Myers and ship her off to witsec."

"Well at least we're not back to using old school book codes for our contacts with CIA," Chuck said.

Sarah frowned. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Shower. Why?"

She rolled her eyes at him and pursed her lips sourly. Chuck shrugged. "What? She had blood on her neck, and all on the side of her face."

"I'll bet," Sarah said and rummaged in her pocket for her keys. "Go get the stuff out of the car?"

"Wait, you went back for the rental?" Chuck said when he recognized the Hertz keychain.

"Relax," Sarah said and quirked a half-smile. "I played musical license plates with a half dozen cars; we're safe on that front for one night at least."

"That's not my point! They could have had somebody watching the car, waiting with a rifle to kill you," Chuck said.

"I chose that parking space carefully. There weren't any sight-lines on the car more than a hundred yards out, and I scoped them out before I went back. Besides, we might need some of the gear I left in the trunk," Sarah eeled out of her heavy coat, tossed it on one of the pair of queen sized beds and sat on the other.

Chuck bounced the keys on his palm and considered his wife's posture. "Don't kill her. We still need to know what she told them."

"Of course I'm not going to kill her," Sarah said.

"Or maim her."

"Fine, nor shall I maim her," she said. "Fair enough?"

"I have a sinking suspicion I need to be very specific."

Sarah gave him a seraphically innocent smile. He grumbled and trudged out into the cold. Barely seconds later, the bathroom door opened.

"You sure you don't want to —urm" Jill was wearing a towel wrapped around her chest, and a sulty expression that dripped slowly off her face at the dangerous glint in Sarah's eye.

"Finish your thought, Roberts," Sarah said.

"Where's Chuck?"

"'You're sure you don't want to where's Chuck'" Sarah frowned. "That doesn't make much sense, Roberts."

"Um."

"That's one."

"What is?"

"The whole half-baked shower-seduction thing. That's one."

Jill recovered her composure with commendable quickness. She managed a smile, but it was a little weak. "What happens you get to three?"

"I break your face like Humpty frelling Dumpty. Go put some clothes on, you're embarrassing yourself."

"My clothes have bloodstains on them," Jill said.

"Make do."

"If we have to go out in public, the blood from the guy you shot off my back; it's going to attract notice."

"Just get dressed; we can worry about your wardrobe later."

A knock came at the door, and Sarah went to check it while Jill retreated into the bathroom. Sarah did her usual peek at the side of the peephole before glancing through, then pulled the door wide.

"You didn't have to bring it all in one trip, I would have come help you," Sarah said, trying to take some of the burden off him. Chuck shrugged her hands aside.

"It's alright, I got it," he said, piling their luggage and her cased sniper rifle next to the dresser.

Sarah frowned at the bathroom door. "Did you check to make sure there's not a window she could have wriggled out of?"

"What? No, of course I didn't check for that."

"She's our prisoner."  
>"Wait, really?"<p>

Sarah took a deep breath so she didn't say something she'd regret later, and went over to pound on the door. "What's taking so long?"

"You really think she'd jump out the window?"

"We're on the ground floor; I'm taking nothing for granted and neither should you."

Jill opened the door with a grimace. "What now, Walker?" Sarah lashed out, grabbing Jill's arm and twisting it up behind her back before shoving her none too gently against the wall. "Ow, damn it, let me go! What is the matter with you?"

Sarah hauled the pistol out of the small of Jill's back and took a full three steps back, brandishing the weapon where Chuck could see it. "No guns for you, Roberts."

Jill pursed her lips sourly, about to say something back, when Sarah pointed the weapon vaguely at her. "Sit down. Now. What did you tell them about Chuck? Did you tell them our real last name?"

"What's do you mean?"

"Did you tell them Chuck's real last name? This is important, Jill. If you gave them that, you've put my daughter's life in jeopardy, and we need to know as soon as possible. What did you tell them?"

"I'm not telling you anything until I've got my deal."

"Once we're back in DC we'll hand you over to Witsec; it's a done deal."

"It's not done until I've got it in writing. I'm not telling you anything."

"I can always make you tell me."

"This is the woman you marry, Chuck?"

"She's not usually so angry," Chuck shrugged, "but under the circumstances I can't really blame her. _Did _you tell them my real name?"

"I want that deal in writing before I say anything at all."

Sarah's eyes could have flash-frozen a fair-sized pond. "Chuck, why don't you take a shower," she said. "You've got dried blood behind your ear."

He shuddered and scooped up his overnight bag, leaving Jill and Sarah alone in the room. Jill swallowed nervously.

Sarah unloaded Jill's gun and set it on the nightstand between the two double beds, before sitting down across from Jill. "What is this, the waiting game?" Jill said, "weren't you going to threaten me some more?"

Sarah folded her arms and frowned."You know I took him off the grid for the better part of a year?"

"What? Why?"

"NSA tried to split us up." She said simply. "Come between me and my man, bad things happen to you. I almost put a bullet through Beckman's eye when she decided to put Chuck in a bunker. Not my proudest moment."

"You let them put him in a bunker?" Jill demanded.

"Not like I had a lot of choice in the matter. Your friends in the Ring sent a commando raid through our front door while I was eight and a half months pregnant. NSA took me to the hospital. By the time I broke out he was already on his way to the bunker. My point was to show you how far I'd go to keep him safe, from any threat. I threatened to use needle-nose pliers on the head of the NSA if she didn't let me see him. Do you really think I'd hesitate to kill _you_ if your... intransigence causes some harm to come to my daughter?"

"No." Jill said softly.

"This whole mission is stupid. I could have taken you out from four or five blocks out, but Chuck insisted we needed to bring you in and find out what you had told them."

"If you're trying to get me to cooperate, why remind me how much you want to put a bullet in my brain?"

"So that you understand the restrain I'm showing," Sarah said after a moment. "You're getting preferential treatment because we can't risk Chuck's identity being out there. And there are too many people could recognize Carmichael from that conference. And if you gave them his real name, Chuck's sister will be a target too. My daughter will be a target."

"Is that why you made him grow his hair out that long? Some lame disguise. The funny animal shapes are growing funny animal shapes."

"No. I like the animal shapes. They're sexy. Plus, they gives me something to hold on to when he gets a little too enthusiastic. I'm sure you know what I mean?" She arched an eyebrow and Jill scowled. "You kept the ring, I'm just making sure you know exactly how taken he is."

"I saw the wedding rings."

"And some part of you still thinks I'm playing him. That this is all some long con, that I'm still just doing my job, playing the role." Sarah said harshly. "You think my marriage is a cover. What about my daughter? If you answer that I swear to god I'll break you in half."

"Way I heard it she was an accident. Can't be all that attached to her."

Sarah closed her eyes and forced down the urge to throttle the bitch, counting to ten slowly in her head. "Unplanned. Not an accident. He didn't accidentally put that ring on my finger."

"Mine either," Jill said.

Instead of rising to the bait. Sarah clenched her teeth, and reined her temper in again. "That's two. After this is over, you stay the hell away from my family."

"You CIA types make me sick." Jill said. "You come into his life and completely take it over and what? You expect a ticker-tape parade."

"I never dumped him for a job."

"No, you just fucked him for one."

Sarah sprang off the bed at her, full armed slap knocking Jill into the headboard. It wasn't a well thought out strategy on how to start a fight, she realized that immediately after she started the movement. But by then it was too late, she was already moving forward bodily. Jill rebounded well and didn't have time to put much force behind her reply, but Sarah's forward momentum all but drove Jill's fist into her face right below the eye. Sarah saw lights and shook her head, trying to shake away the cobwebs. A second punch hit her in the mouth and she spat blood onto the carpet. "Bitch." Jill growled and Sarah flipped herself onto her back, legs going up in a pincer. Her right foot hit the side of Jill's closest knee and she jammed the other into the brunette's gut, bending her over.

Sarah reached up and grabbed a handful of Jill's hair, yanking back as she hauled her torso back, rolling Jill over her and following, straddling Jill's chest to pin her down. From her superior position, Sarah could rain down elbows. The fight would be over soon. Sarah reared back to deliver what would probably end up being a concussion at the least, when Jill tried to shift out of the poor position she was in. Sarah tried to pin her opponent's arms and end the confrontation; she'd let her temper get away from her and this whole thing was getting out of hand.

"What the hell!" Chuck shouted, door flying open. "Jill, Sarah what!" Jill took the momentary opening afforded by the distraction of Chuck clad only in a shower curtain, and grabbed a handful of Sarah's hair, yanking her out of position and trying to get back to her feet. Sarah shoved off momentarily before she came back driving her knee into Jill's ribs and grabbing the bitch by the throat. She was through playing around. This time she was just going to give Jill a good old fashioned palm strike to the face and drive the sinus bone right up into her brain and be damned to the consequences. But then Chuck was behind her, arms around her waist pulling her away, lifting her bodily up and clear of Jill before she could follow through. Chuck put himself between them, and then realized just how bad of an idea that was, but had no time to change anything.

"You see!" Jill said, gasping for air. "You see what she's like, Chuck. She's a killer."

He put his back to Sarah, focusing his anger on Jill. He was still going to have to live with Sarah for the next forty or fifty years or so, and he really didn't want her holding a grudge. "Well isn't that the "

"You can't trust her with—"

"She's the one with the black eye, and the busted lip, Jill," he cut across her testily. She was starting to sound ridiculous. Of course he could trust Sarah. But there was genuine fear in Jill's dark eyes and— he heard the snick of a charging handle being pulled. Chuck whirled around and grabbed the sniper rifle, trying to wrestle it away from Sarah.

"Sarah, no!" He hissed. "We need her alive if—"

"Everything okay in there?" A voice cut through the door. "Police, I heard screaming?"

"Jill. Bathroom. Now." Chuck said, voice a low whisper. He yanked the gun away from Sarah, who wasn't really too keen on hanging on to it any more. He bent to slide it under the bed, and when he straightened, Sarah was thrusting his pants and shirt at him. Chuck tugged them on, careful not to zip himself into the zipper. "Oh my god, Sarah, are you alright?"

"Listen. You need to open the door, or I'll bust it down." The cop said through the door.

Chuck looked at her helplessly. "What do I do? They're going to think _I _hit you..."

The banging on the door continued. "Come on, asshole open up." Sarah yanked a pillowcase off her pillow and used it to wipe the worst of the blood, but it did little more than smear the red across her chin even worse than before. She shrugged.

With a sigh, he finally pulled the door open a few inches. "Hello?" He said, a nervous grin playing across his lips. "What seems to be the problem officer?"

"You mind if I come in?"

"I do in fact." Chuck said. "My wife isn't dressed."

"She's got fifteen seconds." The cop said, raising his voice. "And then I'm coming in."

Chuck tried to close the door to use the time to come up with some kind of plan, but the officer had his foot in the door. He pursed his lips and instead called over his shoulder. "You decent, hon?"

The cop barged in, pushing his way past Chuck. "Just the two of you here?" He said.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. Look, I don't know who called you, but I'm fine. We're fine."

"You don't look fine. You look like your scumbag boyfriend just beat the shit out of you." The officer had his hand on the butt of his gun, keeping one eye on Chuck. "You don't have to be scared of this asshole."

"I have four black belts. Believe me, I can take care of myself."

The cop didn't even seem to hear her. "If you don't press charges he'll just do it again. And maybe next time nobody calls the cops and you end up dead."

"I'll say this one time. He. Didn't. Hit. Me."

"Then who did?" He said. "You're not going to give me some bullshit about you falling down some stairs are you? We're on the ground floor."

Chuck started to say something, but the cop rounded on him. "You shut your damn mouth. Guys like you make me sick." And of course, Chuck couldn't help it, he grinned a little and rolled his eyes. Guys like him.

"Alright that's it, creep." He said, "Hands on your head."

"He didn't hit me." Sarah insisted. "And I'm not pressing charges. So you can't."

"I'm bringing him in for questioning." The police officer said. "There's a stolen car in the parking lot."

Chuck put his hands on his head, waited for the cop to move behind him and met Sarah's eyes, hoping she had some kind of plan. She cut her eyes toward the bed, underneath which most of their guns were hidden. Chuck shook his head, barely the tiniest of movements. Sarah snorted and narrowed her eyes, and whipped the gun she'd confiscated from Jill off the nightstand. She slapped the magazine back in even as she darted to the side, rolling across the bed to give herself a better angle so she could shoot around Chuck if she had to. "Let him go." Sarah growled.

"What the what?" The officer said, eyes going wide. "What are you doing?"

"Chuck, move away, slowly." Sarah commanded, the cop stood there, dumbfounded, handcuffs hanging from one raised hand. The officer let his eyes flick back and forth from Chuck to Sarah and back. His mouth hung open, lost for words, and unsure what to make of this development.

"Okay, whatever your name is."

"Kyle."

Sarah racked the action back, chambering a round. "Don't interrupt. Now, Officer Kyle, I want you to reach across with your left hand, take two fingers and drop your gun to the carpet and kick it over to my husband."

"Sarah, really. We could have talked this out. Kyle seems like a reasonable man."

Kyle nodded vigorously. Sarah glared at him and wiped her bloody nose. "Take off your gun belt and drop it on the floor." The officer complied. "Take three steps backward. Chuck get his cuffs."

"I'm really sorry about all of this."

"Chuck! Stop apologizing, he was trying to arrest you."

"Yes'm." Chuck said, and took the handcuffs out of Kyle's unresisting hand.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Can't talk, wife is in angry mode." He said, slapping the cuffs on.

"Where's your backup?" Sarah demanded.

"I didn't call any—"

"Can the bullshit. How far out are they?"

"I don't understand what's going on."

Sarah growled and put the barrel of her service weapon in Kyle's face. "How long do we have."

"A couple minutes, five at the outside. I was at the gas station across the street when I spotted the plates."

"What plates?"

"There's a stolen car in the parking lot. I came over to take a look and I heard the screaming."

"You parked the stolen car in _our _parking lot?" She said, and even though she didn't break her sight picture to glare at him, he wilted.

"Sorry."

"Too late to worry about it now. Jill! Get your sorry ass out here and lets move." Sarah barked, before going on in a much more pleasant tone. "Chuck, grab the guns?"

Kyle's eyes widened when Chuck hauled the sniper rifle out from under the bed. When Jill walked out of the bathroom, the officer's eyes practically came out of his skull. "Dammit, Walker." Jill said holding her side. "I think you broke a rib."

Sarah turned the gun on Jill. "Shut up and get it in gear. We're on a timetable again," she said. Sarah blindfolded and gagged Kyle before tranqing him and stuffing him unconscious under the bed. Chuck and Jill worked to pack everything up, but there wasn't a lot, Jill didn't even have a change of clothes, and the bloodstains down the front of her shirt from yesterday would make things complicated. With reluctance, Sarah agreed to let Jill borrow one of her shirts, and while Jill went into the bathroom to change again, Chuck and Sarah finished loading the trunk.

They piled into Kyle's patrol car, with Jill in the back, for obvious reasons, and Sarah peeled out of the lot. They could hear sirens in the distance, but Sarah swerved the car down a side street and made for the highway.

"Is there a reason you're driving _toward_ the cops?" Jill said, fingers in the grating and hanging on for dear life.

Sarah's lips twitched. "Absolutely," she made a quick U-turn, the sudden jolt as they crossed the median bouncing them around in the car, and fell in behind the police car responding to their 'domestic disturbance,' before she flicked on the lights and sirens.

"How is this better!" Jill said, voice higher pitched than normal in distress.

"Uh oh," Chuck said. "Sarah, are you about to do what I think you're about to do?" She nodded. "Jill. Seatbelts!"

"What are you talking about? There aren't any seatbelts back here."

"Oh, darn," Sarah said with a grin. "Don't die." The insincerity was just dripping from her words.

"Waaalker!" Jill shouted and Sarah gunned the engine. Their stolen cruiser dipped around the responding officers' on the left and Sarah tapped the brakes as she swerved back to the right again, planting the front bumper in the driver's side rear wheel well. With a smile in her heart, Sarah executed a perfect PIT, steering into the collision until the target vehicle lost traction and fishtailed around. She already had the window down and her sidearm ready, and Sarah took the opportunity while the responding vehicle was side on to them, to put two rounds into the front tire and the rest of the clip into the engine block. Even steering one-handed, Sarah managed to disengage officer Kyle's stolen cruiser and drive off clean.

After a drawn out moment of dead silence in the cruiser, save for the noise of the siren, Sarah passed the empty pistol to Chuck so she could put her hands back to the wheel in the approved 10 and 2 locations. She turned left through a red-light and turned off the siren.

"And what did that accomplish." Jill said, taking her fingers out of her ears. "Now we've got every cop in the damn county after us."

"What percentage of those cops do you think are working for the Ring?" Sarah shot back over her shoulder. "Got to be fairly low, and I'd rather take my chances in Canadian jail than risk letting them catch up with us." Chuck grinned at her.

"God, I wish I hadn't let you take my gun." Jill said. "I could shoot the both of you. Or better yet, myself. Do you have to be so damn cute all the time?"

"_I _do," Chuck said and laughed. "It's in the pre-nup."

"Anyway." Sarah said, drawing the word out. "We've bought some time. Be on the lookout for a nice abandoned field or something, just make sure we can steal another car near it."

"And why are we stealing cars, CIA?" Jill demanded.

"Because we compromised the Carmichael death to make sure you couldn't expose his real identity. So now we're back to square one, cut off from reliable intelligence and support. Actually, no its worse than square one. We can't just disappear because Beckman knows we have to go back for Lisa, and she might be waiting with the goon squad to put Chuck in a bunker again for all we know. I hope you're proud of yourself." Sarah said, turning down a cross street and searching for a good candidate.

"What do you mean, Carmichael death?"

"We faked our deaths a few months ago." Chuck explained. "Tons of fun."

"We had to do that, because the Ring tracked us down at our off-the-grid safe-house while I was nine months pregnant. I just got finished telling you about it."

"You really have a kid." Jill said, finally coming to grips with that fact.

"The main point of telling you that is to tell you the kind of people you're dealing with."

Jill scoffed. "You didn't tell her about the exploding earpiece, Chuck? It's not like I had much of a choice, Agent Walker."

Sarah sighed. Her usual response for when people insisted on Walker wouldn't work, because officially that's who she was supposed to be, calm, cool collected, Agent Goddamn Walker. Going hyperviolent on Jill for her 'slip-up' wouldn't do anything, except make her clam up about the one thing they needed to know from her. That and there was that pesky screen grating between the front seat and the passenger compartment, that would make payback for the motel difficult. Although... Sarah stomped suddenly on the brakes, and Jill smacked her face into the grating.

"Ow! Shit!" Jill put a hand to her bloody nose.

"Sarah!" Chuck said. His wife shrugged.

"She was asking for it."

It only took them a few minutes to find a likely target, an oldsmobile, probably twenty years old, but in decent shape, which made it perfect for her purposes. Also, it was located down an alley and they were in a mostly deserted street. Sarah pulled the police cruiser up behind the olds and got out. Chuck started to open the door to let Jill out, and Sarah shot him a look. "No." Was all she had to say, and he shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, while Sarah went around to the trunk. "Come on, help me unload."

She tossed him a slim-jim, which he promptly flashed on before using it to pop the lock. Once he'd sat down in the driver's seat, he flashed again, and rubbed his temple a little, massaging away the beginnings of a mild headache from the back to back flashes. He was halfway through hot-wiring the Oldsmobile when Sarah banged on the trunk, and he popped it open for her.

"Hey!" Jill said, raising her voice. "You going to let me out of here, or what?"

Sarah stowed the last of their weapons and supplies in the Oldsmobile's trunk and slammed it shut. "You know what this is?" She said, bouncing a cell phone on her palm as she approached.

"Cell phone?" Jill said grumpily.

"NSA issue incinerator," Sarah said, and tossed it into the front seat. She pulled out her burner phone and tapped in a number. "I hit send, and we say goodbye to Jill Roberts once and for all."

"Chuck would never let you—"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. I'd _enjoy_ making it up to him anyway. Tell me what you told them." Sarah said. "Chuck's not in charge here."

"Dammit, I didn't tell them anything!" Jill said, clawing at the window. "Come on, walker! Let me out! I told you! I didn't tell them anything!"

"Good." Sarah said, and hit send. "See you around Roberts." The blond got in the passenger seat and the Oldsmobile pulled out the opposite end of the alley. The phone lying on the front seat started ringing just as they turned to corner. It rang, and rang, and then, it stopped, and went to voicemail.

Jill, staring at the incinerator so intently, didn't notice at first when the Oldsmobile backed across the end of the alley and stopped. She did spot Chuck walking back toward the police cruiser. "Run away, Chuck!" Jill said.

"Relax." Chuck shrugged and hopped in long enough to snatch the phone.

"What!" Jill said. "Chuck, don't it's going to explode."

Chuck sighed. "No it's not. Sarah's sense of humor can go a little dark sometimes. It's just a normal phone. Relax."

"I'm going to kill the bitch."

"Hey, no you're not, we took all the guns. And you sucker punched her last time, and Sarah still ended up about a second away from killing you. She'll just beat you up again in a straight up fight. But, come on. You have to admit, it is a little funny."

"I will do no such thing."

* * *

><p><strong>Henry Ford Hospital<strong>

**Detroit, MI**

**0545**

"Her prognosis is better than we really expected," the doctor said. "It was touch-and-go there for a while, but she's out of the ICU. The surgery went well, and none of the pieces of shrapnel did any permanent damage to the internal organs. There will be a certain amount of physical therapy needed, but I expect your friend to make a full recovery, Agent Woods."

"Partner, not friend," Kevin said. "Can I go in and see her?"

"They're just moving her to her room now," the doctor said. "But I suppose so. Agent Camden won't be awake for another couple hours though I'm afraid."

"That's fine," Kevin said. "You have the room number?"

"No, but they'll know down at the nurse's station."

"Thanks," he headed that direction and waited for the nurse to point him in the right direction. "Laura Camden?"

"She's just come back from ICU," the nurse said. "204, down the hall there."

Kevin crashed in the chair at Laura's bedside, and opened his eyes suddenly. Something had woken him up. He glanced at his watch. Nearly two hours; he couldn't afford to fall asleep like that on watch. Kevin scanned the room for whatever it was that had awoken him, and his eyes widened in surprise. Laura was up, and starting to panic. She already had one hand on the tube running out of her mouth to the ventilator.

"Hey, don't pull that," Kevin said, scooting his chair closer. "I'll get the doctor to come in and take it out if you want. What's wrong? Hang on," he said and fished a pocket notebook out of his coat pocket. "You up to writing?"

Laura nodded weakly and gripped the pen; her handwriting was shaky, but still legible.

_**Danny?**_

Kevin shook his head. "They got away; we think he's still alive. But we're not exactly—" his phone rang. "Sorry, I've got to take this, it's the Colonel. Try to get some rest, okay?"

Once he was out in the hall, he answered his flipped his phone open. "Woods, any news?"

"Not yet," Casey said. "Hopefully I'll hear back from Walsh and O'bannon. What about Laura?"

"She woke up a second ago, and she's asking about Danny. Which, I've gotta say, is high on my list too. We need to go after him."

"I don't disagree," Casey said. "But under the circumstances, we've got to play this smart. We don't have the manpower we can trust right now, and running off on a half-baked rescue mission is just going to get one of the good guys killed."

"I understand that," Kevin said as he approached the nurses' station again. He glanced absently at the TV on the wall. "But— hang on." He pressed his phone to his chest. "Would you turn that up, please?"

Kevin stared at the television in shock.

_**Unknown subject wanted in conjunction with the shooting deaths last night of two Detroit police officers. He is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous.**_

Kevin swallowed. "John, we got a problem," he whispered, half turning away from the nurses station to keep her from overhearing. "I'm on the news. The sketch is a pretty good likeness. Apparently I'm armed and dangerous."

"Freeze!" Someone shouted. Very slowly Kevin looked over his shoulder. Two men in police blues stood twenty feet behind him down the corridor.

"I'm gonna have to call you back, John."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: And now, let the insanity resume.

* * *

><p>Chapter 21: Wanted: Dead or Alive<p>

**Henry Ford Hospital**

**Detroit, MI**

**0800**

"Guys, this is all just a misunderstanding."

"Do not move!"

"Relax, I'm just putting down the phone," Kevin said, easing a step over to place his cell phone carefully on the counter at the nurses' station.

"You armed?"

"Yes, I am. My weapon is on my left hip," he turned to face them, reached over and slowly pulled the side of his coat open to reveal the 45 in its holster. "If you look close you'll see the hammer is down. It's a single-action. Even if I wanted to shoot anybody, I'd have to rack a round into the chamber first, and you boys'd have a couple of bullets in me apiece by the time I could do it. Now how about we all just relax and I'll reach into my coat pocket for my ID?"

"Okay."

"Thank you," Kevin said and produced his FBI badge in its little leather wallet, flipped it open. "So you see, this is all a mistake. I'm FBI..."

"Holy shit, it _is_ him."

"Do what now?" Kevin tensed, but fought the instinct to go for his gun. Shooting police officers would be highly counterproductive, and also horrible. And he hadn't been lying about not having a round in the chamber. They already had their weapons out, and it could all be over in a second. Although now that he looked closer, their weapons were tasers, not pistols; nobody wanted to shoot up a hospital and risk killing some poor sap in for gall-bladder surgery or something.

"Dispatch kept it off the news broadcast," one of the officers nodded toward the tv overhead. "But the BOLO they sent us mentioned you'd be impersonating an FBI agent."

"Awesome," Kevin sighed.

"Hands on top of your head, turn around and back up slowly."

"Alright, alright, I'm doing it," His thoughts were a maddening jumble. Casey had told him once about FULCRUM's man in the LAPD, but he couldn't know if these two Detroit cops were on the Ring's take. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, but it stretched_ plausibility_. More likely, the Ring had a single well-placed goon high up in the Detroit police, and he was using the good people on the force to sweep him up. So, that meant the kid gloves stayed on. He couldn't risk being captured and helpless in a holding cell, but he couldn't kill them either. It limited his options somewhat.

It all went through his head in the brief seconds it took him to back up into range of the first cop. The man grabbed Kevin's wrist and slapped a handcuff to him. Kevin glanced over his shoulder and the moment crystallized. The second officer had stayed back a few steps and to the left so that he would have a good angle to shoot Kevin if he tried something. But he had his taser out, not his sidearm. Kevin was moving before he stopped to think, before he could talk himself out of it.

He spun in place, right elbow coming across to hit the cop in the nose, distracting the man from his handcuffing. Kevin never would have dared even try it, if not for that taser. Bullets routinely broke the sound barrier, and rifle bullets often topped mach 3. The little darts in a taser barely topped fifty meters per second. Kevin was a lot closer than that, but he still had a fraction of a second before the man reacted; then he had another fraction of a second before the darts hit him.

The officer Kevin elbowed staggered a half step. Right into the path of the oncoming taser darts, and he went stiff for a moment before he started to fall.

The second officer cursed and dropped the taser to reach for his nightstick, but Kevin was still moving. He finished his spin and shoved the tased officer before the man could collapse. The two cops went down in a tangle of limbs and Kevin was there a moment later, snatching the second cop's tonfa and sending it whirling into the man's temple.

The nurse screamed and Kevin glared at her momentarily. But his escape window was closing quick. He grabbed the radio from one officer's belt, and stuck it in the big outside pocket of his blazer. The second radio he threw on the ground and smashed with the heel of his shoe. Then he rummaged in the officers' pockets for the handcuff key. Once he'd freed his wrist, he cuffed the two cops back to back, scooped his cell phone off the nurses' station counter and headed for the stairwell at a run. That nurse was already calling security and he could almost feel the noose closing as the hospital was locked down.

He slammed the door behind him and went down the stairs as fast as he could. He leaped the last few steps and slid down the bannister, whipping around the landing and almost headlong into a security guard. Kevin still had the captured nightstick, and drove it into the man's gut. The security guard staggered back into the wall, clawing for his gun, and Kevin rapped him smartly on the wrist, sending the revolver clattering to the floor. For good measure, Kevin kicked the fallen revolver down the stairs. He followed it up with a quick combination of blows, from his nightstick, and sent the security guard off to dreamland.

He slid the tonfa up his sleeve and strode casually out of the stairwell on the ground floor. Kevin scanned the lobby and walked calmly toward the exit. The staff still hadn't gotten the whole message, since he'd managed so far to avoid gunfire, but he didn't imagine that would last much longer.

Twenty feet from the exit someone shouted for him to stop, and Kevin broke into a trot again. He burst out into the chill January morning and spun, whipped the tonfa back out of his sleeve and through the door handles. It wouldn't hold long, but it might let him get to his car without pursuit.

Casey had finagled Walsh and O'bannon into leaving him an FBI Suburban, and he'd made use of his Federal plates to park near the entrance. In another thirty seconds he was out of the parking lot and away, though he still had no clue what to do next.

He fished out his phone and called back Casey, holding the phone in between his cheek and shoulder so he could keep both hands on the wheel. "What the hell is going on?" Casey demanded without bothering to say hello.

"I wish I knew Colonel, the cops have an APB out on me, or at least my likeness, right down to my 'impersonating' an FBI agent," Kevin said. He turned onto a street packed with morning commuters and checked his mirrors. "Hell. Somebody's got a tail on me."

"Cops get word out?"

"Not yet, I'm monitoring the police bands," Kevin said, just as the handheld radio he had pilfered crackled on the seat next to him. "And they were on me too quick, the alert on my vehicle just went out as we were talking. Don't look like police cruisers anyway. Shit, John do you have a tracker in my watch or something I should know about?"

"No. It's in your right thigh."

"'Booster shots' ugh, I should have known," Kevin said. He took a left turn on a red, through traffic, hoping to lose his pursuers. An oncoming car swerved and sideswiped a pickup, blocking the intersection, with his pursuers on the other side. It'd only be temporary at best until he could find a way to dig out the tracker or-

"Hang on, does that mean the whole team got those?"

"Yeah, what are you thinking?"

"Danny's got one too. I can go after him."

"But if they've got your tracker frequency they know about Danny's too. It's gonna be a trap or at best a heavily guarded compound."

"I'm a wanted man, Casey. It's either that or rot in some fleabag motel until it's all over. Permission to mount a rescue op?"

"Granted. You'll need the frequency and a passcode. You got a pen?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Kevin said, fishing a magic marker out of his coat and biting off the cap. He wrote on the back of his hand, with the cap of his magic marker in his mouth. He capped it and spit the marker into the passenger seat when he was done. "Okay, I'm gonna have to go dark, next they'll try and track me off my cell."

"Good luck, Lieutenant."

Kevin flipped his phone over and snapped the back panel off and thumbed the SIM card out, removed the battery and tossed it onto the passenger seat as well. His eyes spotted a familiar orange sign and the corner of his mouth twitched; just what he needed. A Home Depot.

Kevin drove around the rear of the store and parked, got out and grabbed his cased sniper rifle from the back. It would be awful conspicuous walking around with the thing, but he couldn't risk leaving it in the SUV. If nothing else, the Ring would try to put a tracer in it. And they might even have access to the GPS. He looked around and grinned. It was only a brisk thirty yard walk to the dumpster, and he popped the lid. Good, mostly empty, so it probably had just been emptied. He wouldn't have to worry about the dumptruck coming by and stealing his M21. He snagged a flashbang from his bag and slipped it into his inside coat pocket before carefully putting his rifle-case in the dumpster.

Getting into the store might be a problem... unless they left the loading dock doors open. Kevin shook his head ruefully at his good fortune and hopped up onto the slab. He peeked around the corner, and his luck held. The coast was clear. Walking calmly and confidently was nerve-wracking, but worth it. A Home Depot employee in the familiar Orange vest walked by, and Kevin nodded politely as if he had every right to be in the back area of the store. Another nerve-wracking twenty seconds and he was through the door into the store proper.

He made a mental checklist of the items he would need and got to it. His pursuers could only be a few minutes behind in a best-case scenario, and worst case they were already pulling up in the parking lot. He grabbed a magnetic stud-finder, a spool of copper wire, a needle-nose pliers, and then cursed under his breath when he couldn't find the last piece of the puzzle. He flagged down the first Home Depot employee he could find. "Excuse me, do you carry first aid kits?"

"Sorry man, no, we don't."

Kevin grunted and turned on his heel. He needed privacy, and was relieved to see that the restrooms were nearby at the back of the store.

"Hey," He was almost to the door when an arm snaked out and grabbed his shoulder. "Can't you read? No merchandise in the restrooms."

Kevin whirled on the man and froze. There had to be cameras, on the outside at least, if people taking stuff into the bathrooms was such a problem, but he didn't really have a choice. The flash came as a surprise, but after a wobbly couple of seconds, he was alright.

"Whoa, buddy, you alright?"

Kevin went with it; it was better than his original plan anyway. "Urg, I'm gonna puke..." he slurred and bulled through into the men's room.

The worker followed him, just as planned. "Hey, sick or no, I can't let you bring those in here."

Kevin turned, fingers extended and poked the man in the solar plexus, then chopped him in the neck with the flat of his hand. The man slumped quite satisfactorily. Pressure points actually did work. Who'd have thunk it? He caught the man before he could hit his head on the tile and dragged the unconscious worker into one of the stalls, then had a brief moment of terror that one of them might already be occupied.

Thankfully the bathroom _was_ empty so he only had to deal with one unconscious captive at the moment, and he shut the worker up in one of the stalls. He went back a moment later and 'borrowed' the man's vest and a heavy duty folding knife.

Kevin secluded himself in the other stall and set to work with his new knife, cutting open the packaging on the needle-nose and the wire, tearing open the little plastic stud-finder's cardboard backing with his teeth.

"Hope to god this works," he muttered and took his pants down, sitting on the toilet.

The stud-finder was a contractor's tool, used to find the upright wall studs in a house after the dry-wall had gone in, for hanging pictures or the like. Really how it worked was that it found the nails. Newer versions used the same principles as a metal detector, but the one Kevin had swiped was the old fashioned kind with a free-swinging magnet in a clear plastic bubble.

A scowl marred his face. He should have asked Casey if the thing was even made of metal. If the tracker in his leg was plastic or something, he was screwed. Kevin pressed the little gadget to his thigh hard, trying to lessen the distance between the magnet and the tracker. Ten seconds later, the magnet stood up in the case, attracted to some piece of metal inside his leg. "There you are, you little bastard," Kevin growled. He tugged the belt out of his pants and doubled it, stuffed it in his mouth and bit down, breathing heavily. He held his breath, flicked open the knife and grit his teeth. The point of the blade rested cold against his leg and his berated himself. This was no time to half-ass it, Woodcomb. He brought the knife down hard. The belt in his mouth worked simultaneously to stop him from biting his tongue off, and to muffle the scream. He twisted the blade to widen the wound, and felt something tap against the metal through the blade. It wasn't bone, he hadn't gone deep enough for that, which meant...

He swallowed and set the knife on the toilet paper dispenser, picked up the needlenose pliers and probed into the hole he'd gouged in the meat of his thigh.

"Oh, sonofabitch!" he grated, his voice muffled and confused by the belt, but then, he came out with a tiny little metal disk. "No more booster shots... ever," he panted in a fervent tone, speaking as much to the dislodged tracker as himself. "No matter _what_ Devon says."

He shrugged out of his coat, and wiped the knife blade on the monogrammed handkerchief his mother had given him last Christmas, before he used it to slice off the long sleeve of his thermal undershirt. He wiped the worst of the blood off and tied the sleeve around his thigh. He had to move.

But first, he grinned to himself and fished in his coat pocket, coming up with the flashbang, he'd leave the pursuit a little present.

He used the copper wire he'd grabbed to wire the pin of the flashbang to the door, and then it was simply a matter of getting out of the store past the bad guys. They had to be in the store by now.

* * *

><p>"Move, come on," Mattingly said, glancing down at the screen of his GPS tracker. He's in the back. Bravo, come around to the loading dock."<p>

"Roger that," Bravo said. " I see his SUV back here.

"Okay," Mattingly said. "He's in the men's room. Let's do this."

They waited until they were in the bathroom, out of camera shot, before the four man team pulled their weapons. The silencers were good, and they all had subsonic ammo, just to be safe. They left two men to watch the doors and discourage any interlopers.

Riggs went over to the stalls with Benton, and grunted. "I got feet, open up in there." Riggs kicked the door, then shook his head. "Not him, just some guy, unconscious looks like. Benton, hit the other one.

Benton kicked the second stall in and cursed. Riggs peeked in and his eyes widened. He just had time to spot the message written in blood before the world went white.

_**Nice **__**try**__**.**_

* * *

><p>Kevin cursed his luck. Well, it couldn't stay good forever. There was an obvious goon in a Black SUV out back, but Kevin had come out the employee entrance at the side. He might be able to come at him unseen, but it'd be risky. If he just disappeared, he'd have to leave the rifle behind, and Kevin never wanted to go into combat without a long gun if it wasn't absolutely necessary. He didn't even stop to think about that assumption on his part. The switch had been flipped; he was in Delta Force mode. Escape was his goal, but anything that slowed down or hindered pursuit was to be considered a bonus.<p>

He rooted in one of the numerous interior pockets of his coat, the same one he'd bought his first day in DC, and came out with the tiny hand-held monocular.

He moved when the Ring agent's head was pointed the other direction, slipping behind the dumpster. He was on the wrong side to retrieve his weapon, and moving around would bring him into sight of the man's rear-view mirror.

Kevin skulked along the fence-line, heart in his throat. He couldn't ignore the throbbing of his wounded leg completely, and he was maybe half a step slower than normal; he wasn't quite limping, but his leg let him know its displeasure with every step. If the man kept looking away, it was only thirty feet, and his window was down. Smoking, he saw, from the trailing wisp of vapor. The man tensed suddenly, hand going to his earpiece. The flashbang must have just blown. This was his chance. Kevin never remembered the conscious decision to move, he was already a third of the way there when he realized his feet were moving. If the man would only stay distracted for another couple of seconds... his hand went into the back pocket of his jeans and came out with his knife. He flicked it open one handed and the Ring agent turned, maybe the man had heard the snick of the blade locking into position. "What the hell are-"

Kevin reached through the window and slammed the man's head against the wheel with his left hand. His right hand followed a half-second behind to ram the knife blade into his spine. The Ring agent went limp and Kevin hauled him back upright in his seat. The man's eyes were still open, still wide eyed with shock. But he couldn't speak as the life drained out of him, everything below his head was paralyzed. Kevin leaned in and took the keys from the ignition, tossed them over the back fence into the bushed. Then he eased the man's coat open and took the dying man's sidearm. A silenced Beretta. Good, stealth was going to be important, and he hadn't packed the .22 conversion with the threaded barrel for his own sidearm. The man's eyes still accused him and Kevin shrugged. He pulled the radio and earpiece free of the man's coat and fit it in his own ear. "You chose the wrong side, pal," he said before he strode over to retrieve his rifle case from the dumpster.

He felt horribly self conscious walking around the side of the Home Depot with a rifle slung over his shoulder, case or no. He expected a shout of surprise and recognition any time, but it didn't come, and the radio chatter was reassuring. They were still recovering. The flashbang in such an enclosed space had knocked two of the men unconscious and the others were still reeling. And the Depot employees were rallying to the sound of the explosion, slowing them down and frustrating them; shooting up the Home Depot could only result in a hostage situation, and he doubted they really wanted to risk showing up on the TV news.

Kevin found an old rust bucket of an El Camino close to the parking lot exit. No chance of a car alarm there, he managed a grin as he tossed the rifle case in the pickup bed, and smashed the window in with his elbow. He brushed the seat off and sat down, leaning forward to pop the panel open and hot-wire the thing.

There were two of them in the SUV out front. He'd have to drive right by them to get out of the parking lot, and he couldn't be sure of losing them again. Losing an overt tail wasn't in his skillet and he wasn't sure if they'd put that in his intersect upload. Something to talk with Manoosh about if he ever got back to DC. To make matters worse, they were going to be highly motivated, in the pursuit, since he'd killed one of their own.

If he didn't do something about that SUV now, he might never get another chance. Kevin glanced around the car and his jaw set. He grabbed the Lions cap from the dashboard and a road map from the cubby in the drivers' side door.

"He come out the front yet?" the voice of the one he'd pegged as their leader asked over the radio.

"No, I'd have seen him."

Kevin checked the magazine on the suppressed pistol he'd liberated from usage by the Ring and slid out of the El Camino, map in one hand and pistol in his left, hidden behind his leg. He pulled the hat low over his eyes and folded the map around the gun, pretending to be engrossed as he closed the distance. At ten feet he slowed. "Hey, you guys know how to get to the park. You know the one, right?"

"What, go screw man," one of them said.

Kevin was only five feet away now, and he took another step. "Dude, what's your problem, there's no need to be rude."

"Fuck. Off."

"Well that's not very polite," Kevin said, side-stepping to give himself better line of sight. He slid his hand into the folded map around the hidden Beretta, and squeezed off a single round into the unhelpful Ring agent's forehead. Subsonic rounds, he was pleased to hear. The report of the pistol was barely any louder than the sound of the slide snapping back into position. He just had time for that thought as he swiveled his hips, shoulders coming around and the tension in his wrist bringing the weapon down from the recoil of the first shot. The second shot was barely half a second after the first, and at point blank range, the outcome was all but a foregone conclusion.

The spent casings, trapped by the map, fell out into his free hand, and Kevin tossed them into the SUV for want of anything better to do with them. He leaned in and stole the keys again, looked around the parking lot. No one was shouting or screaming in terror, so he took that as a good sign. Halfway back to the El Camino he turned and absently put a couple rounds through both front tires. If he could hot-wire a car so could they.

Kevin was pulling out of the parking lot, even as he spotted men in dark suits coming out the front entrance of the Home Depot, and went in search of the freeway.

* * *

><p><strong>Minot North Dakota<strong>

**Gas 'n' Sip**

**1432**

Nearly twelve hours in the car hadn't been good for anyone's mood, and Sarah had been her usual happy go lucky self the whole trip. Jill snorted. She couldn't even finish thinking that with a straight face. Walker had always had it in for her, even before the FULCRUM bombshell had landed. Not that she could really blame her; she'd obviously been smitten even then, if still trying to hide it.

Rolling the window up on their new ride, she pulled around into the Gas 'n' Sip parking lot. They'd be a lot less remarked-upon if their plates matched the country at least, and in-state plates would be even better. Hopefully they wouldn't need to change every time they went across state lines. And she'd made sure to find a pickup with a camper shell on the back so that whoever wasn't driving had a decent chance to get some shut-eye. She parked and waited, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Jill contemplated just driving off without them for a moment, before thinking better of it. She might manage to disappear again, maybe even for another year or two, but the offer of witness protection would likely expire. There didn't seem to be a better plan on the horizon that would allow her to avoid a shallow grave or prison. Granted, she needed to watch her temper of Walker would be the one putting her in a grave.

Jill shook her head and stepped down. She hauled open the door to the convenience store and nearly ran right into Sarah.

"Dammit!" Sarah said, fumbling the paper bag full of road food. She stooped immediately to start putting things back.

Jill's eyes went as wide as they could go, and she snatched up the box. "Is this what I think it is? Can't you learn to keep it in your pants, Walker?"

Sarah glared daggers at her and grabbed the pregnancy test back. "Shut up, Roberts."

Jill shook her head. "I just... Jesus. You don't think you've got enough on your plate already?"

"I don't really feel like you're the person I should be having this talk with."

"I'll just go talk to Chuck, then."

"Don't you dare," Sarah said. "I don't even know if I really am or not. I'm late, but I haven't got the morning sickness like last time yet."

"Then you'd better get a move on," Jill said. "I saw the sign for the bathroom; it's around back."

* * *

><p>"Well?" Jill pressed, when Sarah finally emerged.<p>

Her eyes were troubled and she shrugged, then nodded helplessly.

"Your timing could be better."

Sarah shrugged again. "Don't tell Chuck. I don't want him to be distracted. I'll tell him once we're back home safe and sound. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No... I understand, it's not that," Jill said uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch earlier."

"Well at least you can admit it."

"Hey! You're supposed to say you're sorry too. Pregnancy hormones making you a jerk, maybe?"

Sarah shook her head. "Nope. That's not it at all. You deserved it."

Jill grimaced and opened her mouth to retort, when Chuck's voice broke in. "There you two are. I was worried I'd find one of you dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Come back in five minutes," Sarah said with a grin. "I'll see what I can do."

"We should probably get moving," Jill said. "Do we have a meeting time and place yet?"

"Tomorrow night, Ragland Road Park, 8pm."

"What and where is that supposed to be?"

"It's the park, about five minutes from our house," Sarah said and frowned down at her wristwatch. "But, can we make it in time?"

"Google maps says it's 27 hours from here, but that's not counting bathroom stops and gassing up," Chuck shrugged. "We should make it in time, though. If there's one thing I've learned from movies, it's to always trust the giant faceless corporations."

"It's like I don't even know you any more," Jill said.

"I'm pretty sure he was joking..." Sarah said. "Not that it was as funny as the fake incinerator, but I like that you try."

Chuck stuck his tongue out at his wife.

* * *

><p><strong>NSA Headquarters<br>**

**Fort Meade**

****1603****

"General," Casey said as he and Jarod came into Beckman's office. "I thought our briefing was going to wait until tomorrow?"

Beckman shrugged that away with a wave of her hand. "Your report on Woods'... predicament got me thinking, and we need to move quickly."

"Yes ma'am?"

"The Ring had access to his tracker frequency. We need to dig out your tracker as well, Jarod, or at least disable it temporarily until the mole situation is rectified."

"Have you made any progress on that front, ma'am?"

"Progress might be too optimistic a term for what we've got," Beckman said sourly. "The only people who had access to the tracking frequencies are myself, you Colonel Casey, Deputy Director Myers, Chuck and Sarah. We were very careful about only storing that information on computers without internet access, that were kept out of the main databases. Unless we've had a major _physical_ security breach which I'm sure I'd know about if we had... that means one of the five of us is the mole."

"All due respect ma'am, that's insane," Casey said.

"To quote Sherlock Holmes," Beckman said. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable..."

Casey shook his head in denial. "But it's _not_ possible."

"Nevertheless, we must move forward on the basis that it is. Until Chuck and Sarah get back, Myers is the only suspect we can put under surveillance, assuming of course that neither you or I are the mole. So, I want you to put a tail on him. He's working on something, but he's cutting me out of the loop, and I need to know what it is."

"General," Casey said. "That's going to look very suspicious. If we're all mole suspects, then you ordering me to do this could have the appearance that-"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Colonel," Beckman said. "Get it done."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Getting down to it now. Some cool stuff coming up in the next couple chapters, and then we're in the home stretch. Probably the biggest craziest action set-pieces in my fanfic career. And I remember chapter 28 of vs themselves just as well as the next person. I'm saying: bigger.

And keep those reviews coming, please.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: So. This is the big one. I have a feeling I'm going to be saying that a lot in the upcoming chapters, as we're into the home stretch now.

The whole story gets blown wide open this chapter. This is the first time I've warned about content in a while, since most people still reading at this point know what they're in for. There's a fairly large helping of action this chapter and there will be at least one character death this chapter.

* * *

><p>Chapter 22: Boulevard of Broken Dreams<p>

**Jan 7**

**Detroit Michigan**

**1700**

The house where the Ring was holding Danny was well guarded. There were always a minimum of four guards patrolling the grounds behind an eight foot tall stone fence, usually within mutual support range. Sometimes though, they would split up, two in the back yard and two around front; that would be his window of opportunity. They traded off shifts about every four hours, and during the night, motion detector-primed floodlamps had illuminated the grounds periodically as they made the rounds.

Kevin hadn't been able to pinpoint the locations of the motion detectors themselves until his host had mentioned the telescope in the upstairs closet. The numbers were worrying as well. He could try to take the exterior guards with his sniper rifle; his hideout was only a hundred-fifty yards away, and with the suppressor they wouldn't know where the fire was coming from. But he would still have to approach the house on foot at some point, and he had no doubts the men inside would discover their fellows' deaths before he could get into the house himself if he tried the long range option.

It was a horrible tactical scenario; in Delta, this kind of thing would be relatively simple. Four sentries, four men in an A-team; they'd hit the sentries simultaneously and then move on to the house. Not easy or without risks, of course, but simple. Or at any rate, simpl_er_ than how he'd have to do it all by his lonesome.

"Is that true?" his host said, bringing Kevin out of his brooding.

"Is what true?" he said, turning from the window.

The man bobbed his head toward the television set, where the news was still plastering that sketch of him on the airwaves. But now, in addition to the two imaginary Detroit Police he was supposed to have killed, they had hung three dead FBI agents on him. Kevin shook his head. "They weren't any FBI agents," he said, shrugging, "sorry, I guess I was distracted. Thinking."

"About whether to kill us or not?"

Kevin glared at the woman for a moment. "Of course I'm not going to kill you! I'm the good guy, TV news to the contrary. I thought we went over this?"

"You did tie us up in our living room..." the man said, bobbing his head to take in the pair of dining room chairs he'd bound them to back-to-back.

"That's because your backside neighbors kidnapped a federal agent, and I can't have you running off telling tales. I'll be leaving tonight; I'll call somebody to get you loose after I'm done."

"What if... these kidnappers..." the man started. "I mean, what if you can't?"

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," Kevin grumbled. He frowned and composed himself. "Sorry. You have an idea?"

"My phone, you can set up a text message to go out at a given time."

"Like an alarm clock that sends text messages?"

"Yeah."

"Good idea," Kevin said. "I'm glad you didn't make me gag you."

The man snorted. "I've gotta say, you're a lot more polite than I imagined a home invasion would turn out."

"Thank you, I think. Hang on, you were expecting a home invasion?"

The man shrugged in his bonds and his wife snorted. "My husband is something of a paranoid," she said.

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "How paranoid? On a scale of shotgun under the sofa to fallout shelter in the basement?"

The man shrugged again. "The latter."

Kevin nodded thoughtfully. "I'm gonna be outnumbered pretty heavily; you got anything good down there that'd help?"

He mumbled something and Kevin perked up. "I'm sorry but it sounded like you said claymores. I take it you aren't talking about Scottish greatswords."

"You take it correctly."

Kevin's grin had a fair amount of wolf in it. "Mind if I borrow a couple?"

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere in Virginia<strong>

**1900**

Sarah curled into him briefly before pulling away to fish her jeans out of the depths of the sleeping bag. "This can't happen again," she said.

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Seriously? You change your mind about wanting five kids?"

She froze and then turned and punched him in the arm. "Field missions," she paused briefly to concentrate on shimmying into her pants. "It's a vicious circle; we keep telling them we're done, that's it, last one. And they keep wheedling. 'It can only be you. Your country needs you.' It's never going to end as long as we keep on working for the CIA."

"Well, whose fault is it, really, that they know how to push our buttons? The problem is, as I see it, that we're too noble by half, the both of us," he pulled her back into his arms and she sighed against his chest. "We tried being selfish, and it didn't last three months. When we ran off at the end of last September, by December we were off on our very own freelance spy mission."

"I know, damn it," she turned her head up to meet his gaze, "but we have to do _some_thing. Lisa deserves better than we've given her."

"What's this really about? Is it Jill? I know you don't like her..."

"It's not Jill. I don't- maybe it is her, a little. I know she was never CIA, technically. But this life doesn't allow for happy endings, not very often anyway. And I just know, deep down in my bones, that if we don't get out now, we're never _going_ to get out. And that scares the hell out of me, because I've never done anything else. I just want to be normal."

"Sarah honey, I love you with all my heart. And I know I used to say I wanted that too. Normal. It was a kind of talisman I used when I felt like I had no power over my own life, that CIA was dictating everything, putting these tendrils into every aspect of my life. I was okay with that since you came as part of the package. But you know you could never settle for normal. You know it, don't you? Just how breathtakingly _extra_-ordinary you are? Or do I have to show you again?"

Sarah grinned crookedly. "It couldn't hurt."

"Ugh, gross. Don't tell me you to are boning back here!" Jill said, poking her head through the little window from the pickup's cabin.

"No, of course we're not."

"Not _technically_," Chuck said, extracting his hands gingerly from where they'd begun wandering up under her shirt.

"What does that even mean- no shut up, I don't want to know what that means. I need new directions, we're coming up on the exit you told me to look out for."

Chuck sighed and nodded. "Pull over, I'll sit up front with you."

* * *

><p><strong>Outskirts of Langley, VA<strong>

**1930**

"Slow down," Casey said. "We don't want to spook him; the guy used to be non-official cover behind the iron curtain. He knows how to make a tail."

Jarod nodded. "I read the file Beckman got us the same as you, Colonel. I can't slow down much more or I'll lose him completely."

Casey grunted. "I know, sorry. I just hate this whole scenario. I still have a hard time believing the DDO is on the take."

"It explains how the Ring's been on us every time we make a move."

"I suppose it does," Casey said. "I still don't like it. It's too easy."

"The general said it's down to him, or you or Chuck and/or Sarah," Jarod said. "Crap, where'd he go?"

"Alley on the right," Casey shook his head.

"You think he made us?"

"Or he just likes to keep the skills fresh. I do the same thing sometimes on my drive home, just in case," Casey nodded. "Make the same turn he did. Something's not sitting right."

"He'll know for sure we're following..."

"Do it!"

"I am," Jarod said, and turned the wheel. Myers' car was just turning onto the next cross street. Jarod fell in behind again, and they followed Myers for a couple blocks, before the car pulled over onto the gravel shoulder.

"Oh, hell. What do I do?"

Casey grunted. "Pull in behind him. This ought to be interesting." Myers stuck a hand out the window and beckoned them forward. "Really interesting. Keep your hand on your gun."

Jarod and Casey got out and walked up on the stopped car. Casey cursed under his breath when they were close enough to make out the driver.

"Hey, John. What's the occassion?" Mags Myers said.

"Where's Bill?" Casey leaned in to look into the backseat, where Lisa was snoozing int the carseat, and his shoulders tightened.

"How should I know," Margaret said, all innocence. He didn't believe it for a moment.

Casey pursed his lips but didn't answer. "Pop the trunk."

She craned her neck and spotted Jarod. "You looking for my husband or my groceries?"

"Just do it."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile and popped the trunk open. Jarod glanced in, then closed the trunk and slammed the lid closed. He shook his head.

"I need you to come in to Fort Meade with us, until we clear things up."

She quirked a smile. "Did the NSA get granted arrest powers when I wasn't paying attention? I think I'll pass. Watch your feet, John."

"Now what?" Jarod said when she rounded the end of the block.

"If she's in her husband's car, he's probably in hers. We get NRO looking for him in the overheads."

But when the satellite people finally got back to them half an hour later, the Myers family station wagon had been parked outside their house all day. Bill Myers was in the wind.

* * *

><p><strong>Ragland Road Park<strong>

**Tysons Corner, VA**

**2005 EST**

So how will we know when he's here?" Jill wanted to know.

Sarah grinned. "There he is," she said, poking her hand through into the front seat and pointing out the passenger window. "He brought the Behemoth."

"The what?"

"Park by the minivan," Chuck said.

Jill stared at him for a moment before she pulled in.

Sarah jumped out of the covered camper shell and headed for the van. "Did you bring my daughter?" she asked when Myers appeared out of the driver's side door of their van.

Myers grimaced. "No. I had to ditch Casey and Jarod earlier. Beckman must think I'm the mole."

"Then... where's Lisa?"

"Oh, she and Mags are safe at your place," he said. "Since you're going to have to give me a ride anyway thanks to all this, I figured it'd be simplest." He tipped an imaginary hat at Jill. "Ms Roberts. Since we haven't been introduced, I'm Deputy Director Myers. The situation has been a little more complicated since we last talked."

"I gathered. Beckman thinks you're a mole?"

"It's down to five suspects," he explained. "And you're in a parking lot with three of them. Assuming it isn't one of us, it's got to be Casey or Beckman. I'm leaning towards Casey, myself."

"That's insane," Sarah snapped.

"They've tried to compromise the Colonel before," he shrugged. "I haven't been able to get a response from my contacts in the Marshal service about Casey's daughter."

"Whoa whoa whoa, wait. We're talking about the same guy, right?" Chuck said. "John _Casey_ has a daughter?"

"She's a few years younger than you. And an old CO of his threatened to kill her if he didn't turn double agent. We never did find the man's body, but that doesn't mean some of his friends in the Ring might have ignored the message his disappearance was supposed to send. Anyway, we should continue this talk on the road," Myers said, sliding open the side door. "I don't like-" he gasped and there was a dull thwack. Myers crashed against the side of the Behemoth, breath leaving him in a rush. Blood welled from a hole dead center of his chest as the gunshot echoed across the park.

Myers managed to stay on his feet and staggered right into Sarah's arms. "Sniper!" Sarah shouted, shoving Myers through the open sliding door, "Chuck, get in, now!"

A second bullet whined off the armor plated side of the Behemoth above her head as she ducked into the driver's seat.

"What good does getting in the car do us?" Jill demanded. "Chuck keep your head down."

A bullet thunked into the window harmlessly a moment after he got the sliding door closed. "It's alright," he said, and rapped his knuckle against the window. "It'll stop a .50 cal."

"Your mommy-mobile is bullet-proof?"

"Of course!" Sarah said, backing out of the parking spot. Is Myers dead?"

"Yeah," Chuck said weakly, giving up on CPR.

"Then get on the machinegun."

"This thing's got a machinegun?"

"Sarah!" Chuck pointed across the parking lot as their tires squealed.

"I see it, relax," Sarah fiddled with the GPS screen and the Ring SUV heading across the open field toward them took a rocket through the engine compartment.

Jill stared goggle-eyed.

"It also has missile and grenade launchers," Chuck explained.

Jill laughed in shock. "I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised. You let them upsell you to the ultra deluxe model, I see. Where are we going?"

"We need to go get Lisa, and... jesus. Myers obviously wasn't the Mole. But, what if it was Mags? She's got my baby!"

"Sarah, relax," Chuck soothed, as he fumbled with the stow & go back seat. "Mags is your friend."

"We got company!"

"Help me with this, Jill," Chuck said. "Sarah, pop the back!"

"They're shooting at us!" Jill protested, but the rear cargo hatch was already rising. Chuck shoved on the back seat with both feet and it came free completely, tumbling into the roadway.

"Separation!" Chuck said.

Sarah tapped a button on the console, and the back seat belched smoke plumes even as it flipped end over end on the road. Two Ring SUVs burst through the smoke screen a couple of seconds later, even as Chuck gripped the pull-handle in the stow & go compartment and hauled out the swivel-mounted M240B. The cargo hatch started coming back down, but a long skinny port in the glass allowed the barrel to traverse left and right.

"Ears on, it's about to get loud in here!"

"What?" Jill demanded, before Sarah tossed a pair of bulky black plastic hearing protector headsets into the back seat. "You're taking this awfully calm, Chuck," she said and passed Chuck one of the headsets.

He shrugged as he donned the ear-protectors. "We go to this old rock quarry at the edge of town every two weeks for gunnery drills."

"You two are the weirdest married couple ever!" she shouted as she fit her muffs over her ears. A second later the gun roared, sending a ripple of tracer fire into the pursuing SUVs. Chuck kept the rounds low, blasting away at the engine compartment in a bid to disble the vehicles rather than the windshield to kill the occupants. It made little difference, since the bullets rebounded off the armored hood and grills.

Chuck grit his teeth and slewed the gun across both vehicles. He tried to angle the stream of fire down at the tires, but the port was too narrow to traverse the gun that far down.

"Sarah, they're armored too."

"Get up here and work the grenade launcher, then," she said. "I need to concentrate on driving."

"Here, Jill take over," he said, handing off the gryo-stabilized monster and clambering forward over Myers' still form on the floor between the captain's chairs and into the passenger seat.

"Seatbelt, honey," Sarah admonished gently.

Chuck spared her a sour look while he buckled up, but then he had more pressing concerns. He fired a short burt from the roof-mounted grenade launcher, angling the rounds into the grill and undercarriage of the lead SUV. The explosions weren't powerful enough to destroy the armored car wholesale, but the front tires blew out and the hood shot off, the engine spewing thick black smoke. The driver lost control on his foor flat tires; the brake liness and hyrdraulics were likely shredded as well and the stricken vehicle slewed sideways across the street. It tottered on its wheel rims for a fraction of a second before it flipped over onto its roof with a crash of grinding metal, skidding to a halt in a spray of sparks.

Jill kept the pressure on the other SUV as it swerved around the wreckage of its lost partner, holding down the firing studs and lashing the windshield with automatic fire. Sarah glanced back and shook her head. "I told you we should have gone for the armor piercing rounds!" she shouted over the roar of the machine gun.

Jill's machinegun fire smashed the windshield into a white mess of fracture patterns but the remaining pursuit vehicle continued on, its armor holding for the moment. Two men stuck their heads out the windows, and a moment later, return fire began peppering the rear of the Behemoth.

"There you are, asshole!" Jill growled, holding fire long enough to center her sights on one of the gunmen. A brief burst of fire sent him tumbling out into the street like a ragdoll. With any luck she could get the driver as well; he'd have to stick his head out soon if he wanted to see where he was going. Instead, the SUV slowed a little. Jill frowned. "Something's wrong," she said softly, her words lost under the roar of gunfire in both directions.

The only warning they had before the fourth SUV broadsided them was the sudden flare of headlights. The behemoth thrashed and tumbled in a squeal of metal and turning a full roll before it finally came to a rest up on its left side.

Sarah shook cobwebs out of her head and fished a knife out of her bra to pop the airbags that had saved her life. "Chuck!" she said, coughing from dust and smoke from the airbags. "You alive?"

"Yeah," he said after a moment. His voice was rough from the same cause as her coughing. He turned to look at her, still strapped into his chair above her in the passenger seat. "Good call on the seatbelts, babe..." he coughed and blinked dust from his eyes. "Oh, crap. Jill! You still with us? Jill!"

"Quit yelling, I'm here. I think- agh, damn! My leg's broken, and... yeah, some ribs too, but I'm alive."

Chuck glanced into the backseat and blanched. "There's a lot of blood back there."

"It's mostly Myers'," she said.

"Chuck, we've got to get out of here," Sarah said. "We're sitting ducks."

"Right, I'm-" he stopped. "Dammit, my seatbelt's jammed."

"Here, I can cut you loose," Sarah said, but Chuck shook his head, pointing at the monitor in the center console. The camera in the roof mount was gone, but there were others in the missile launch tubes in the doors. The occupants of the SUV that had rammed and flipped the Behemoth were out of their vehicle and closing on foot.

"No time, theyre coming. Go, get to Lisa, we'll hold them off!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Go!" Chuck shouted. "One of us has to make it out of this."

Sarah knelt awkwardly on the armrest so she could lean up and kiss him roughly. "Don't you dare die on me, Charles Irving Bartowski," she said, with tears in her eyes. She wriggled out through the skylight, which was pointing away from the Ring agents for the moment.

Chuck rubbed blood out of his face from a cut he'd suffered above his eyebrow in the crash and tapped away at the touch screen. "Go, now!" he said, and sent a rocket into the SUV the Ring had abandoned. The explosion knocked two men off their feet and distracted the others long enough for Sarah to disappear into the night.

He managed to punch the glovebox open one handed and extract the pair of pistols Sarah kept inside for emergencies. "Jill, you still with me?"

"I guess so," she said.

"Catch," Chuck tossed her one of the weapons and chambered a round himself. "If we can keep them off us long enough, maybe the police will show up. All this gunfire, somebody has got to have picked up a phone. Pick your shots carefully."

Jill nodded grimly.

* * *

><p>Sarah had to fight the urge to turn back every step. The house was still three blocks away, and she vaulted a fence, going through back yards, jumping at shadows and swingsets as she made her way. Part of her cursed herself for a coward for leaving him, but another part was ashamed she'd had to be pressured into it. But this wasn't Afghanistan. Their sleepy little DC suburb would be boiling with activity soon; prolonged gunfire and explosions would soon call the police. Chuck could hold out for that long, surely. Maybe she'd even have time to grab Chuck's shotgun and head back to help clean up.<p>

The brief fantasy turned rank when she turned the corner onto their street. Even from a hundred yards away, she could see the smoke rising for her house. "God, no..." she sprinted from tree to tree, cover to cover until she was close enough to see what had happened. There was another of those damn black Suburbans in the driveway, and the front door was simply gone, blown in by a shaped charge, the always active analytical part of her brain chipped in. It only made sense of course; she'd made it necessary in choosing to reinforce and armor both frame and door. Anything less than an explosive entry probably wouldn't have done much more than scuff the paint. It didn't make her feel any better.

She skulked in the bushes out front briefly, scoping the house. They didn't have anyone out front watching. She hadn't heard the explosion herself, but someone had, surely. It didn't make sense; they should have had _someone_ on lookout.

Her hand shook and Sarah glared at it until the tremor steadied, before she padded over.

The door had flown off its hinges, through the foyer and smashed their china cabinet in the dining room. Still no sign of anyone. Every instinct she had screamed at her. This was wrong, not just that it was her own ruined home she was creeping into like a thief. The _tactics_ didn't make sense.

She found Mags lying next to the dining room table, hands in zipcuffs behind her back. Sarah swallowed a curse and checked for a pulse. Alive, thank god.

"She's merely unconsious, a woman's voice said from the living room."

Sarah's gun came up and she spun. Damn amateur move! She cursed herself mentally. Clear the building, then look to the wounded. The woman was sitting on the sofa, dandling Lisa on her knee.

"Before you do anything rash," the woman said, as if the gun was hardly a concern. "I'd like to draw your attention to the horribly tacky armband I'm wearing. It contains a heart monitor; should anything... drastic happen to my heartrate, or should it stop entirely, well, I'd truly hate for anything untoward to happen to this little angel."

Sarah fought down bile in the back of her throat.

"Kindly place the weapon on the floor and kick it away, Agent Walker."

Her breath fought to run out of control, and only iron will kept her from panic. Sarah's hands were numb as she bent and did as the mystery woman said.

"Good," she said brightly, standing from the sofa and beckoning Sarah into the living room. There had to be some way out if this, grab Lisa and run maybe? But the other woman was likely armed. It was odd though, that she hadn't pulled her gun. A muzzle pressed to Lisa's chest would be just as effective a threat as the needlessly roundabout heartbeat monitor bomb. But, the woman hadn't actually voiced the threat, hadn't explicitly said there was a bomb, and she was being bizarrely civil, as if they'd met before.

"Do I know you?" Sarah said.

"I'm afraid not. You should call me Frost, for now."

A new sound finally penetrated Sarah's consciousness, a helicopter rotor approaching, no almost on top of them. The police, finally!

"That will be our ride, Agent Walker," Frost said. She pulled a cell phone from her coat pocket and laid it on the side table, before nodding toward the back door, where the chopper was setting down. "After you," Frost said. The other woman shielded Lisa's ears from the roar of the rotor wash as best she could. Two men in black tactical gear hopped out and checked Sarah for further weapons before they let her into the helicopter. Once the doors were closed and they were in the air, Frost handed Lisa over so Sarah could comfort her crying baby. Sarah patted and cooed, though the sound of the engine didn't help. Frost finally handed over a pair of ear protectors, which helped distract Lisa from all the commotion. Sarah stared at Frost. It all seemed so unreal. What the hell was going on?

* * *

><p>Chuck was down to four rounds when the Ring operatives suddenly broke off, got back in their remaining drivable vehicle and simply left. "What the hell?" he grumbled. "They're running away?"<p>

"Looks like it," Jill said weakly. The gun tumbled from her fingers.

"Are you alright?"

She snorted. "I'm dying," she said.

"What, you said-"

"Lied," Jill coughed blood. "Rib went through my lung... in the crash... I think."

Chuck wriggled out of his seat; he'd cut himself free earlier, but stayed where he was so he could fire out the passenger window that was now the uppermost part of the Behemoth.

"You should have said something," he said.

Jill merely shrugged. "Wouldn't have made any difference. I'm sorry, Chuck. I should have seen it sooner."

"What are you talking about?"

"This whole thing," she said, panting for breath. "They were using me, and I didn't even see it. They were trying to flush you out. The great agent Carmichael." A laugh turned into a pained groan.

"You'll be fine. Police, EMTs, the cavalry will be here soon."

"Don't wait for them," Jill said. "Sarah needs you."

"She can take care of herself better than I can most of the time, she'll be fine. You're not going to die."

Jill smiled faintly. "Don't tell me what to do..." She closed her eyes, and for a moment he though she was already gone. "Chuck," she said. "Did we ever really have a chance, you and me? Back at Stanford, before all the lies and death and betrayal?" her voice was growing more labored and she had to stop to cough halfway through. "Tell me the truth."

Chuck's breath caught and she shook his head helplessly. "I don't know either," he said.

A tear slid down her cheek and she sighed, slumping further down in the floor of the overturned Behemoth, and breathed her last.

Chuck staggered from the wreck before he heard the first siren off in the distance. A helicopter flew overhead as he was turning onto their street. He was barely coherent as he staggered into the wreckage of his home. "Sarah!" he called, but only the ringing silence and the howl of police sirens answered him. He bent to Check Mags Myers' pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief. Chuck shook her shoulder, but she was still out cold. And he didn't relish being the one to tell her about Bill's death anyway, so he left her and went into the living room, numb. Someone had left the back door open, he realized discordantly.

Then he heard the phone ring. He didn't recognize the ringtone; it was one of those cheesy synth tones built into most cell phones these days. He tracked it down eventually, and answered it.

"Do exactly as I say, if you ever want to see your wife and daughter again, Agent Carmichael," a digitally scrambled voice said. Chuck's hand nearly broke the phone he gripped it so hard.

It took him several seconds to get his breathing under control. "Alright," he said, in a voice grown cold as the grave. "Tell me what I have to do."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, still with me?

Before you accuse me of pulling a Fedak and casting Sarah as the damsel in distress for the climax of the story, (Season 4, I'm looking at you.) note that we've still got a bunch of crazy action set pieces coming up. (Six or seven, if my math is right.) And Sarah's going to be around for most of them.

That, and there's no herring like a red herring, is there? Insert evil laugh here.

It seems like the number of reviews has been trending down recently, and I know that's just a function of fewer people reading since the show ended, but it's still kind of frustrating, since this part of the story has been in my head for so long, and it's the part I most need feedback on.

Even if it's just a couple of words to let me know you're still picking up what I'm putting down, I'd love to hear what you guys and gals think as the final act of this story plays out.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N:First off, I'd like to thank everybody who took the time to review the last chapter. You're all great, and give me renewed energy to move forward on this chapter. I had a record number of reviews for a single chapter of this story, so I guess that answers the question of whether or not interest was waning.

And yes, showing my age with the Styx chapter title. Granted, the song came out four years before I was born, but still...

* * *

><p>Chapter 23: Renegade<p>

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

2130

Chuck paid the cabbie and looked out across the well lit expanse of the Langley parking lots. His palms were already sweating, and he hadn't even done anything yet. As he walked toward the main entrance he couldn't help but beat himself up. He'd activated the tracker Sarah had planted in her arm as soon as he'd gotten over the shock of the whole situation, but the beacon had already been travelling at better than a hundred miles an hour.

He checked it periodically, and now they must have been aboard a plane. The tracker, and his Sarah and their daughter were being whisked away out of his reach. They might not know for certain that Sarah was lo-jacked, but they were taking no chances that he might mount a rescue mission instead of following through with his new mission.

The word was a bitter twisting in his gut. His mission tonight was a heist, and one he was uniquely placed to pull off. The Ring-or more precisely, he was sure-Volkoff, wanted the new Intersect image encoding protocols that had allowed Kevin to be uploaded safely with almost the entire database _and_ a leavening of skills his Ranger and later Delta Force training had managed to overlook.

The very fact that the bad guys knew about those protocols was worrying enough, but if they wanted them badly enough to stage this entire mess, kidnapping Sarah and Lisa so they could use Chuck to do the thievery could only mean Volkoff was close to having his own Intersect. That was the best case scenario; worst case, he already had a working model and wanted to improve its efficiency.

He went across the lobby and into the line at the metal detectors. Walking over the huge seal in the floor, Chuck fought back a shiver. He remembered the first time he'd walked into CIA, and now he was walking into it as an intruder. One hand tightened into a fist for a moment. He somehow managed to keep the inner turmoil off his features, but it was a constant struggle.

He passed his ID over the scanner, and the barrier went up. The uniformed security guard on night duty waved him through, and Chuck made his way toward Manoosh's lab in the basement. Hopefully no one would still be working this late.

* * *

><p>I-495<p>

Approaching Langley, VA

"Yes, ma'am," Colonel Casey said. "It's confirmed. DDO Myers and Roberts are both dead. Local police found the bodies in the wreck of Bartowski's minivan. Roberts from the car wreck, Mreys had a single gunshot wound to the heart. He bled out fast. I've got local police rushing the ballistics; they had to send someone over to break up the technician's dinner date, but we should have some kind of result within an hour. If the killers were careless enough to use the same weapon before in another hit, maybe we'll get a name. I'm not exactly hopeful myself. We're on our way back to Langley now."

"Good. Something else has happened."

"God, what now?"

"Bartowski's at CIA headquarters right now; I flagged his and Sarah's IDs. How soon can you get there?"

"We're still a few minutes out," Casey called. "Do we think he's involved?"

"You saw the aftermath at the house. And you know the Ring likes blackmail better than most. As a precaution, I want you and Jarod to place Chuck into protective custody as soon as you get to Langley."

"It'd be good if we had eyes on him while he was there," Casey said. "If he _is_ compromised and gets away. You remember how good he can be at avoiding electronic surveillance."

"Manoosh is working in his lab," Beckman said.

"No offense to the good doctor, but he's no match for Chuck without his Intersect glasses."

"You have another idea?"

"What about his old supervisor from the Iceland desk. Didn't Myers mention how the guy was suspicious of Chuck? We don't have to tell him the whole story."

"Very well, I'll take care of it."

Casey hung up and turned to Jarod. "There's a siren in the glove box. I don't want to get pulled over.

* * *

><p>Chuck paused at the door the the Project Flypaper labs and gathered himself. He wasn't sure how far he could trust Volkoff to play him fair. Enough of Sarah's instinctive paranoia had rubbed off on him that he had the beginnings of a contingency plan. But for there to be any hope of bringing those plans off, he needed to have the leverage. He needed to have the data Volkoff wanted.<p>

He swiped his keycard and bent to the retinal scanner, and after a moment, the electric door lock clicked open and he hauled on the heavy door. Manoosh was the only one in the lab, a relatively huge open area with cubicles and office equipment, the standard desktop computers where the team wrote the software that made the massive bulk of the Intersect do its magic.

Manoosh was on the other side of the office half of the lab, wearing headphones like he often did while he worked. Chuck slipped across the room and took a seat at his desk. He paused for a moment at the login screen. If Myers and Jill had been found already, the search would be on by now, and logging in under his own username would be like lighting a neon sign that read 'catch me'. He shook his head and tapped in his password. There was never any possibility of going back, with Lisa and Sarah's lives in the balance, but now his illusions were gone as well. Chuck and Jesus Jones had spent literally weeks going over the CIA database security protocols and ironing out every last loophole they could find. But, to do that, Myers and Beckman had given both of them broad and far reaching administrator accounts. From outside, and without Chuck's access codes, the whole system was as secure as could be; from inside, Chuck could do pretty much as he pleased, at least as far as the physical security system was concerned.

* * *

><p>Gerald Delbeccio had always suspected there was something 'off' about Chuck Bartowski, and now he had the proof. He was just glad that he'd been staying going over some paperwork in his dead end Intel assignment late tonight, or he'd have missed his chance. He popped the knuckles on his right hand absently, and the security tech glared absently over his shoulder at the noise. "Any sign of him?"<p>

"Computer's still running facial recognition, it'll be another minute or so at most."

"What's the hold up?"

"It just takes a while," the man tried to explain. "You have any idea how many security cameras are in this place? It takes as long as it- there he is! Subbasement 2, last sighted outside B2-226. Looks like he went inside."

"We don't have cameras inside? What's in there?"

The security tech shook his head. "Access denied, it's a Special Access Compartment."

"We'll see about that," Gerald said, reaching for the desk phone, a secure encrypted model. "Scroll back and see if he stopped anyplace else. If he left us a surprise in a trashcan to distract us when he tries to leave..."

"On it," the technician said. Gerald waited while the encrypted phones synched up. "Oh hell. He's in our system."

"What?"

"Unless you think it's a coincidence somebody's purging every frame of video with this guy's face in it?" The security tech tapped the photo of Bartowski Gerald had nabbed from one of the cubicles in the Iceland section.

* * *

><p>"Crap," Chuck said. The tiny pop-up message reading: Cannot complete secure deletion. File already in use by user 224582y. They were already on him. That was the only reason someone else would be looking at footage of him from six minutes ago. "Crap, crap crap," he whispered, typing feverishly. He should have erased the footage first, instead of looping most of the cameras on his escape route first. Chuck shook his head angrily. He didn't have time to waste berating himself on should-have-dones. He'd counted on having the time to hack Manoosh or one of the other science team's passwords; Chuck himself didn't have need to know on the new encoding process. But, it looked like Manoosh was logged in already.<p>

He hated to do this to his fellow nerd, especially after the last time. And he didn't have any tranq guns this time, so it was going to be messier. Still, he didn't really have any choice. Chuck rooted in his drawer and found a pair of USB thumb drives, before he snuck up on Manoosh. Most of the lights were out, and only the glow of computer monitors lit the lab, lending it a needlessly spooky atmosphere.

Manoosh stretched and turned his head when Chuck was still a few steps away. He nearly jumped a foot in the air.

"Oh, Chuck! Jeeze, you scared me, man," Manoosh tugged his earphones out.

"Sorry," Chuck said, entirely heartfelt.

"When did you get back? Oh, man, what time is it? I've been working too long, I think I'm babbling," his cell phone was on his desk, and it began vibrating jittering across the formica. Manoosh grabbed it and glanced at the text message. He blanched visibly and his eyes widened.

"Who's the text from?" Chuck said, but he already knew.

Manoosh swallowed heavily. "Do what? What text? It's uh just my alarm, really!"

Manoosh tried to bolt out of his chair, but Chuck was too close now; he grabbed the back of the chair and wedged his foot behind the caster wheels, tipping Manoosh out backward onto the floor. He turned even as the breath wooshed out of the other man's lungs and dropped a haymaker right into Manoosh's face.

Chuck caught his breath, already regretting the outburst of violence. He didn't have time to dwell on it, so he took a knee and dug the pair of zipties he'd smuggled in out of his coat pocket. In a few seconds he had his unconscious former colleague cuffed safely. He retrieved Manoosh's dropped cell phone, amd confirmed his fears. It was from Casey.

**Chuck compromised. Observe and report. Do not attempt to apprehend.**

Chuck sighed. He'd never really had high hopes he'd pull this off without discovery; he'd already put a little bit of thought into how he and Sarah would have to disappear again after all this, but like most of the plan, that part was still ill-defined. And he had hoped for at least a little bit of a head start. It took another precious 90 seconds to download the files Volkoff was demanding as ransom, and he cursed every second it took to make a second copy. But this was too important to take chances. He'd taked the time before he left the house to carve a hollow in the sole of one of his sneakers. The first thumb drive went into the hideaway in his shoe, and he disassembled the second one, tucking the flash chip into the back of the phone Volkoff's agent had left him at the house. He casing went in his coat pocket.

Chuck glanced around the lab one last time and felt a pang of regret. He'd miss working out of Langley, the friends he'd made here at CIA. But none of that held a candle to what he stood to lose if he didn't follow through on Volkoff's demands.

He didn't look back.

* * *

><p>Damn it, where the hell had he gone! Gerald ground his teeth and tried not to get in the technician's way. Precious minutes were tricking by, but browbeating the man wasn't going to help. Instead he watched the bank of monitors himself, it wasn't as if it would do any harm and maybe, just maybe he could. "There!" He pointed at one of the monitors.<p>

"What are you talking about, he's not there."

"I know, just keep watching. There it is again," he said. "It's a loop. Could he have looped all the cameras?"

"No way, that'd have taken hours. But he might have gotten the ones on ann escape route. Let me check the parking lot cameras, they're on a different server."

More clicking computer keys, and Gerald held his breath.

"Got him, you were right, he managed to get outside," the security tech explained. "I'll call the perimeter gates, lock down the grounds."

"You do that," Gerald said, and grabbed the desk phone. It rang only once before a voice answered.

"Colonel Coburn?"

"Speaking," Casey said. Better to keep up his cover where possible. "What've you got?"

"He's already outside the building. Whatever he came here for, we've got to assume he's already got his hands on it."

"Okay," Casey said. "Where is he now?"

"Fifty yards from the cabstand..."

Casey grunted. "The cabstand? Why isn't he driving his own car? Jarod you spotted him yet?"

"Got him," the younger man pointed.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Delbeccio."

"You're not going to tell me what's really going on here are you?"

Casey didn't bother answering, but just hung up on him. "I don't think Chuck's spotted us yet. Get out and loop around behind him with the taser."

Jarod raised an eyebrow. "What taser?"

"Glove box, third from the right."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Jarod said, but popped open the glove box. A rack holding half a dozen pistols shot out with a hiss of compressed air. Jarod found the taser and turned to Casey. "You're a weird dude, you know?"

* * *

><p>Chuck nearly fumbled the phone getting it out of his pockets. His fingers were trembling, but he managed to still them after a moment. The back of the phone came off, and after a few more seconds, he got the thumb drive reassembled and the phone put back together. He needed to report in, despite the skin-crawling sensation he got working-no matter that it was under duress-for the people who' been trying to kill him, on and off, for the last few years.<p>

He'd been almost unspeakably lucky getting through the outbound security cordon. CIA was one of the few agencies that had both, since the possibility of someone smuggling out classified data needed to be guarded against. Now that he was outside the building, it was time to set up the exchange, though he was still workingout the kinks to that plan. The most glaring was the fact he trusted Volkoff about as far as he could throw him, without benefit of the Intersect anyway. Whatever meeting Volkoff and his goons tried to set up was doubtlessly a trap. Hopefully he'd have enough time to get the jumbled up beginnings of a plan rattling around in his head into some useful form before- he froze in place, cringing in dismay. An all-too-familiar black Crown Victoria swerved to a stop, tires squealing.

"Give it up, Chuck. You got nowhere to run!" Casey shouted, gun in hand.

Chuck tapped out a quick text message and stuffed his phone into his coat pocket. He locked eyes with Casey. "They've got Sarah, John. I can't afford to let you take me in."

"If that's true, just come in with me, let's sit down and talk about it. Maybe I can help."

"I'm sorry, I can't take that chance."

"Don't you run, Bartowski. You've got nowhere to go."

"It's not like I have a choice."

He got all of a step before his body locked in place and he fell over, taser wires trailing from his back.

"Help me get him in the trunk," Casey said, bending to stick a needle in his neck.

* * *

><p>Chuck came to with a scratchy hood over his head, and his wrists handcuffed to a metal table. Also, he was gagged, and had no idea where he was. So. Just another Saturday night for Chuck Bartowski. He almost managed a laugh at his own joke, feeble as it was. Almost.<p>

"Take the hood off him," a familiar voice said coldly. And light crashed into his eyes in an almost physical blow. A few seconds later the gag came loose as well. He turned and watched Jarod leave the room.

Chuck squinted. "Nice place," then he really got a look at it. "We're not at Langley?"

"No," Casey said from across the table. "The General and I thought it might be for the best if we stayed away from prying ears for the moment. Especially considering some new information that recently came into our possession," he tapped a manila folder on the metal table. Chuck's eyes managed to fully focus, and he saw the two evidence bags holding his phone and the thumb drive from his coat pocket. At least they hadn't found the one in his shoe.

"Casey, I don't have time to play cryptic with you. Volkoff's kidnapped my wife and daughter, and I need the data on that drive if I'm going to have any hope of making a trade for them."

Casey shook his head sadly. "If that was true, I'd be right there with you."  
>"What are you talking about? Of course it's true."<p>

"You're going to want to take a look at this…" he slid the folder into Chuck's reach. "It's the ballistics report on the slug they pulled out of Myers' chest. We matched it to two previous shooting incidents. Cinncinnati, and Clarkdale. Sarah shot Myers."

"That's ridiculous, she was standing right next to me when Myers went down."

"Of course you'd say that. I know you love her, Chuck but you have to face facts."

"John Casey, you are the opposite of Batman," Casey looked taken aback, so he explained. "The world's _worst _detective."

"You got all the stuff from the Clarkdale house sent to you months ago."

"Not the rifle."  
>"Paperwork says otherwise."<p>

"We didn't get the gun back. We didn't even request it. As far as I knew it was still evidence."

"I'd like to believe that, Chuck. I really would. But it explains a lot."

"What time is it?"

"What does that matter?"

"How long since you picked me up?"

"Hour. Maybe an hour and a half, why?"

"I'm pretty sure Volkoff's men will be here any minute; _they _gave me that phone. I'm certain it's at least got a tracking device in it, if not a microphone as well. And you didn't even turn the phone part off."

Casey cursed darkly and sprang to his feet. He scooped up the thumb drive and smashed it under the heel of his boot. Automatic fire from somewhere in the safehouse reached them through the thick walls. He went out the door and then poked back in for a moment, shotgun in hand. "Don't go anywhere."

"Now _really_ isn't the time for one-liners, Casey!" Chuck shot back, and then the door closed. More gunfire roared and Chuck winced. It didn't show signs of letting up, so hopefully Jarod and Casey were holding their own for the moment. Maybe he could get himself loose during the firefight and— his cell phone vibrated briefly. Chuck stretched his handcuff chain as far as he could and snagged the edge of the evidence bag, sliding it over where he could see. It was a text message.

**Get Down.**

"Oh, crap. Crap crap crap!" Chuck did the best he could, kicking his chair out from under him and crouching down, but his hands were still cuffed to the top of the table. He leaned sideways, trying to scrunch his ears into his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut. The explosion nearly deafened him anyway. The ringing in his head was still too loud to hear anything else when a hand shook him. Chuck blinked up at the man in black tactical gear. He couldn't make out the words at first, but the third time, he got it.

"I've still got the data," Chuck said. "Get me out of here."

The man nodded and a second appeared, bolt cutters in hand. Once his hands were free, they slapped a new pair of cuffs on him and half-dragged him out the huge hole they'd blasted in the side of the building. It turned out to have been a rather cozy suburban house. NSA safehouse, probably, some somehow still analytical part of his brain reported. The sound of gunfire was louder, the firefight had spilled into the street; or it had started there, which only said good things for Casey and Jarod's chances.

The Ring agents shoved Chuck into one of their ubiquitous SUVs and drove off, while their compatriots were still exchanging fire with Casey and Jarod.

"Not going to stay and help out your friends?" Chuck asked.

"No."

They drove in silence for a while, until the SUV pulled onto the I-495 on ramp.

"That seems a little cold-blooded, if you don't mind me saying so."

"They're expendable."

"So, who do you guys work for. The Ring, or Volkoff? We never were sure of how everything slotted together over at CIA."

"Shut up," the driver said.

"You know, you should work on your people skills. Also, I'd recommend seat belts…"

"Doesn't anything ever shut you up?"

"Nothing's worked so far," the man in the backseat to his right pulled a sidearm. "And that includes pistol whipping and gunshots, so let's avoid repeating ourselves, shall we?"

The man ground the muzzle into Chuck's ribs. "Where's the data?"

Chuck winced inwardly. He shouldn't have expected them to forget about that. And if they took the data away from him, he lost his leverage. And probably his life. They wouldn't need Sarah or Lisa to exchange with him, and they wouldn't need him any longer. Chuck swallowed and the plan seemed to crystallize. Some of the later parts of it still needed work; he still didn't know _where _he was going to meet Volkoff for the exchange, for example, but the broad strokes came to him like a bolt from the blue. He closed his eyes tight, willing himself to flash. He couldn't often call up specific skills at will, though he did remember the bit about dislocating thumbs. The timing was going to be tricky on this one. The flash left a tinge of throbbing temples.

"It's in my shoe," he said to the man on his left. "You should be able to reach it."

The man bent, pulling at Chuck's pantleg so he could see the shoe. Chuck ground his teeth as his thumb came out of joint. "No, the other shoe." The man in the left back seat leaned over further and Chuck rammed the point of his knee up into the man's chin.

His right wrist came free of the handcuff and his elbow smashed into the wrist holding the gun in his ribs. It wasn't hard enough to knock the weapon free, but it did take the muzzle out of line with Chuck Bartowski's precious organ-y bits.

He grabbed the gun with both hands, trying to keep it pointing away from him. The flash had given him one of the more obscure martial arts; seated Krav Maga, and he put it to good use almost immediately. Chuck elbowed the man to his left, to keep him from drawing a weapon. He managed to snap a kick forward into the front passenger seat and knock away the third man's pistol before he could bring it to bear. The situation was bizarre and horrible enough, before the gun Chuck was struggling for went off, and the driver's head came apart. Blood fanned across the windshield.

Chuck chopped the gunman's wrist and the pistol went flying. The man in the front seat dove for the wheel, but Chuck's foot got in the way and he yanked the wheel. The SUV began to jackknife. "Craaaaaap!" Chuck instinctively grabbed for his seatbelt, and only had to stop and fight the automatic safety lock once. He was the only one who was clearheaded enough to even make the try. The buckle snapped just a second before the world slewed wildly and the SUV rolled in a rage of shattering glass and screaming metal. Finally it stopped.

Chuck opened his eyes slowly. He was hanging upside down in the wrecked SUV. Two in one day. He took a quick inventory, and thankfully found no broken bones. It took him a moment to find the seatbelt latch and he managed not to fall painfully on his head, though he still flailed around more than he'd hoped. One man groaned and Chuck punched him in the head and he went still. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and blinked. Was that a phone ringing or just the ringing in his ears? It came again a moment later, and Chuck fished around, patting the driver's vest until he came away with the phone. After a moment's thought, he took the man's sidearm as well, clutching the phone to his chest. He kicked the windshield out and crawled free of the wreckage.

He waited until he was on his feet to answer the phone. This time there was no computer voice-changer involved. He caught just the tiniest hint of an accent, but it was British more than Russian. "You have the data."  
>"Of course I do," Chuck said. "I'm very motivated."<p>

"Carmichael?" The voice growled.

"Give the man a prize. To whom am I speaking? This is Mr. Volkoff, I presume?"

"What happened to my men?"

"They weren't wearing their seatbelts. I'd hate to have to have this conversation again with the higher ups, so…"

"I am Alexei Volkoff."

Great, now he gives me a first name. Chuck rolled his eyes. "Where do you want to set up the meeting? I want you there personally, in addition to my wife and daughter."

"That might prove difficult. LA Colliseum, 7PM."

"You're kidding. That's clear across the country, and I'm probably topping the FBI most wanted list by now."  
>"That is your concern, not mine. Be there or be square, as the kids say. And keep the phone on. I'll have more instructions for you leading up to the meeting." Volkoff hung up on him. Chuck contemplated breaking the phone for a moment. A dark colored sedan screeched to a halt in front of him, and Chuck realized he'd been walking down the highway while he had his little chat with Volkoff. The gun came up almost by reflex.<p>

"Out of the car," he shouted. The man bolted without being prompted, and Chuck sank into the heated leather seats gratefully. He'd almost forgotten how cold it was.

As he put the car in gear and started driving, he stared at the phone in his hand. After a moment, he flipped it open and dialed from memory. It wasn't likely the Ring—no it was all Volkoff now, best to remember it— it wasn't likely anyone could trace the call anyway.

The phone rang twice, and then a voice answered, heavily digitally distorted.

"How did you get this number."

"Aw, give it a rest, Dad. I need a favor."

Stephen Bartowski's voice replaced the distortion. "What's the matter?"

"Long story. I need you to find and prep a secret airfield for me."

"No problem, I got three. What'll you be flying?"

Chuck managed a grin. Just like his dad to take that in stride. Despite it all, the grin widened. No need to burden his father with the specifics. That part of the plan was still coming together anyway. "You'll know it when you see it," he said. "Call me back at this number with the coordinates when you've got them. And dad? Thanks."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

><p>AN: Originally had the Kevin stuff scheduled for this one, but it was horribly confusing to thread it through alongside. And overwhelmingly action-heavy to just tack it on at the end. So, Kevin gets the spotlight next chapter all to himself. There will be explosions. Thanks once again for the rush of reviews, and keep them coming, please.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Godzilla

**Detroit, MI**

**2148 CST**

Kevin crouched at the base of the wall and shielded the face of his watch with one hand so that the illuminated dial wouldn't give away his position. 9:48 was just about right; he wanted the patrolling Ring agents to be expecting their relief soon. There was a chill in the air and he was thankful once more that his hostages, for lack of a better term, had been so understanding. The dark grey turtleneck they'd let him borrow was coming in very handy. There was a little snow on the ground, but not a full carpet off the stuff. Still, he had to be careful where he stepped once he went over the wall; a single misstep on crunchy snow might give the game away early.

He hitched his pack up higher on his back and sought out toeholds between the heavy stones of the fence. It was slow going, since the need for stealth was paramount, but the fence was only a little taller than Kevin was himself.

His perch at the top was fairly precarious as he hunched over the top of the wall with one arm and produced the Beretta he'd liberated two days ago at the Home Depot. Kevin's fingers were stiff from the cold, but he managed to screw the can-type suppressor into place without much trouble. He didn't have a holster that would accommodate it with the suppressor attached, which added a degree of difficulty to the mission that he could just as well have done without.

Things were already bad enough, thank you. Kevin braced his elbows on the top of the wall, ground the toes of his boots into the holds he'd found between stones to give himself a stable shooting platform and scanned for his target. The motion sensors on the back side of the house announced the patrolling agents with a bloom of light from floodlamps spaced every twenty feet or so. It was a big house, closer to a mansion really when it came down to it. Kevin lined up his sights and held his breath.

The two men patrolling the backyard were spaced ten or fifteen yards apart, making excellent targets of themselves, but they weren't his objective. Yet. He timed the shot for the brief moment when the lead man was transitioning from one motion sensor's range to the next.

Just as the new floodlight was about to turn on, Kevin squeezed the trigger, and the suppressor did the rest. The floodlight flickered on, then off after just the fraction of a second and Kevin breathed again. He'd thought that would work, but to see it in action was something else again. If he'd been the man on patrol, he'd have thought it was a burned out floodlamp bulb himself.

It had been a bit of a long shot, just under fifty yards was as far out as he'd want to risk precision shooting with a pistol. Kevin had given passing thought to bringing his rifle along. But the extra weight and bulk would have been too big of a risk, and he still only had the thermal scope. Any close quarters shooting was better suited to a pistol at any rate, not to mention the fact that his subsonic rounds for the M21 didn't have sufficient power to work the gas piston mechanism. He'd have had to load each round by hand if he wanted to remain unheard. He had another dozen rounds in the magazine of his silenced Beretta, so he had to be careful about wasting ammo.

Kevin let himself down the inside of the fence and went into a low crawl, presenting the smallest target he could. It took him almost five minutes to cross the yard that way, but he was nearly invisible in the darkness.

Finally he crawled through the bushes and leaned against the wall of the house. Kevin chewed his bottom lip for a moment. So far so good, and in point of fact, he could probably get into the house itself unseen without having to kill anyone. But then he'd have armed men outside when he and a hopefully safely rescued Danny needed to make their escape.

And he really didn't want a running firefight if he could avoid it. It wasn't exactly fair, but the army had drilled one of its favorite sayings into him almost from the start: fair means all _my _people come home. And of course the consequence of that was never to give the other guy a fighting chance if you could avoid it. Chivalry was okay for fairy tales.

He waited until the two men came around on their patrol again and fell in behind them as they passed into the darkness left by the shot-out motion sensor. If the other two were following their usual schedule, they were out front at the moment; it was his best chance.

They had closed up a little, closer to half a dozen yards between them now. Kevin padded up behind the trailing agent, knife flashing out. He wasn't quite in time to catch them before the lead man stepped into the next motion sensor in the line, but Kevin was still safely invisible in the shadows as he struck. Movies to the contrary, slitting somebody's throat is neither silent nor quick. The Marines like to teach their charges to break necks when taking out sentries, Navy SEALs go for the knife through the spinal column. Delta taught both techniques and trusted its trainees to fit their training to the situation. The main point in either case is to make the kill as close to instant as possible, and severing the spinal cord is a sure way to keep the target from crying out and alerting his fellows or flailing around and gurgling through a slit throat.

Timing is another important aspect to a silent takedown. Kevin let the pistol in his left hand fall to hang by the trigger-guard so he could clap his hand over the closer agent's mouth to stifle a shout of alarm even as the knife held reversed in his right drove in between the doomed sentry's cervical vertebrae. The man started to slump immediately and Kevin let go of the knife to cradle the man's dead weight. He flipped the pistol back around into his hand as he went to a knee. "Sorry about this," he whispered in the dying man's ear.

The lead sentry paused, half turning. "You hear something, Craig?"

The mechanistic clatter of Kevin's silenced pistol was all the answer he ever got. Kevin set the knifed agent down gently, and plucked a flashlight from his pocket to get a closer look at the dead man's equipment. Combat vest holding spare magazines for the man's SMG, a UMP in the same .45 caliber as Kevin's non-silenced sidearm riding the holster at his hip. Then a couple of flash bangs and an old-fashioned pineapple style frag grenade. The stick magazines for their SMGs were doubled up end-to-end, so fifty rounds per double-mag and four each gave each sentry two-hundred fifty rounds. Under the tactical vest holding their spare mags, they wore light body armor. Kevin tucked away the flashlight and lit up the face of his watch. Still a few minutes before the shift change. He dragged the bodies into the bushes and relieved both men of their ammo, quickly donned one man's body armor and tactical vest and slung the man's subgun over his shoulder. He still didn't have a holster for the suppressed Beretta, but he could slip the weapon under one of the straps briefly if he needed both hands. He grabbed one of the dead men's tactical radios and fit the earpiece into place. Before he moved on, he planted a claymore between the two fallen Ring agents' bodies and rigged the mine to blow when somebody rolled the bodies.

Outfitted in the same gear as the remaining two guards, Kevin strolled out into the front yard as if he had every right to be there. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the flood-lamps, which also happened to obscure his features.

"What's up?" One of the remaining two said. Both men started toward him. Kevin turned and walked backward, still closing the distance, waving up at the motion sensor flood-lamps.

"We got another burned-out bulb out back, and now our radios are cutting out," he said. "I'm heading in for spare batteries."

He was within thirty feet of them, when he turned back and they realized he wasn't who he'd been pretending to be. But both men had let their weapons fall to hang by the sling, and Kevin had the suppressed pistol in hand and coming up even as he turned.

Two quick, well aimed rounds and the exterior patrol was down to a man. The last man managed to get to his gun, but the safety slowed him down a fraction of a second, and he never got a shot off in reply. Kevin breathed a sigh of relief, allowed himself a few seconds to revel in still being alive-and undetected!-before he stooped to drag the two new bodies out of the lights.

He grabbed another couple of claymores from his pack and wired them to the front door as he slipped through. Kevin closed the door silently and turned the knob back by hand. He didn't trust the spring-return not to make a telltale sound.

The interior of the house had been a mystery to him, though he could make some of the layout from his OP in the borrowed house out back. Kevin sidled along the entryway with his back to a wall and peeped around the corner. It was an open-plan house, with kitchen and living room and dining area only separated by a long kitchen island counter-top. One man in black tactical gear was at the refrigerator. "I can't find the mustard, where'd you losers put it?"

"It's on the counter," one of his fellows said from around the corner where Kevin couldn't see him; probably at the kitchen table. Seated draws were slower, so he could take him second. But that was only two, and there had been at least four men trading off with the outside patrol. The man at the refrigerator looked for the mustard, and blinked when he spotted Kevin.

Kevin popped out of cover, took a single aimed shot into the man at the refrigerator, snapping the man's head to the side. He came around the corner even before the man hit the ground. There were two men at the kitchen table, not one. Kevin swiveled his shoulders, squeezed off a second round, and continued the motion smoothly, dropping to a knee to minimize the target he left the third man. But the third agent was barely over the shock of the sudden rush of violent death and reaching for a weapon before Kevin's third round took him through the mouth he'd opened to shout the alarm.

Kevin's breath was ragged in his throat and his heart hammered in his chest. Seven. Where was the eighth? He scanned everywhere and spotted the man's foot through the bannister of the front staircase even as the eighth man spoke. "Frank and Jim want roast beef, if there's any left," he called. A beat later he went on. "Hello?"

Kevin went through the kitchen at a run, the soft soles of his boots making barely a whisper of sound. He vaulted up and slid across the kitchen island, rolled and came up to his knees against the wall under the staircase. He popped to his feet and shot the agent coming down the stairs in the ankle.

"Wha-shit-!" the man tumbled down the stairs and Kevin quick-stepped to his left to gain a clear shot. It was an easy shot, no more than five yards, and he put two clean through the man's head.

Kevin tried to control his breathing listening for sounds of alarm from upstairs. Nothing.

"Oh shit," he whispered and thumbed the mag-release. Idiot, he cursed himself mentally. He'd lost count of how many rounds he had left. Kevin caught the falling magazine and glanced at the holes drilled in the side. One round left, plus the one in the chamber. Two 9mm left. All the men outside had been carrying. 45s as their sidearms. It made sense, to keep your main weapon and sidearms in the same caliber, and if Kevin had thought to bring the threaded barrel and silencer for his own 45 along on the trip to Detroit, he'd have been overjoyed at their choice of weaponry. But he'd left those in his DC apartment... and he only had two rounds left for the smaller caliber weapon he had a silencer for. Two rounds left before he'd have to go loud. His count had been off, or they'd been keeping men in reserve beyond the eight that traded off the patrol duties. If there were any more than two badguys left, things would go from 'interesting' to insane when he lost the advantage of stealth. Intersect or no, it wasn't like he could dodge _bullets._

He didn't have time to go checking the others hoping one was carrying a 9mm sidearm. Or the time to spare cross-loading from one of their magazines if the make of the pistols didn't match up. One of the-at least-two men upstairs might have heard the last man's curse and be creeping down any minute. Still no traffic on the radio, but they might suspect and keep radio silent. Kevin shook his head, he didn't have time to let himself run down those trails of speculation.

He picked his way around the dead man at the foot of the stairs and padded up the staircase, gun held low in both hands. The upstairs seemed almost deserted at first, but a pair of doors on either side of a long hallway could hide dozens of foes. Kevin paused and checked the chamber on his SMG, made sure he remembered where the safety and mag-release and charging handle were, nodded and continued down the hall. If he had to go loud, he wouldn't have the second to waste on re-familiarization later. If Kevin had had any illusions on that front, the manner of his encounters outside and downstairs would have dispelled them. Outnumbered as badly as he was, he couldn't afford to give anyone the time to overcome the moment of surprise his stealthy entrance had given him so far.

Someone was speaking down the hall, though he couldn't make out the words. Kevin crept closer and saw that the last door on the right was cracked open. Judging from his reconnaissance of the exterior, that would make this one of the rooms with a front-facing window that came out onto the roof. He hadn't wanted to risk any long term surveillance from the street, other than when he drove by in the El-Camino to preposition his getaway car a block away.

Kevin leaned against the wall next to the cracked door and touched one of the flash-bangs on his borrowed tactical vest. If he knew for sure 'Frank' and 'Jim' were the last two, the flash-bang grenade would even things up nicely. And if he knew they were alone in there, the pine-apple style frag would make short work of them. But if they weren't alone, it would alert any surviving badguys. And if they were alone with _Danny_, that'd be a sad end to this rescue mission. And he didn't have much time to think it through anyway, since the bodies downstairs could be discovered at any moment, if there were any more than ten men in the house. Kevin cursed under his breath and kicked the door in.

There were three men in the room, Danny bound to a chair and two men sitting at a card table nearby. Neither had so much as a ghost of a chance. Just that quickly, two squeezes of the trigger, and it was over. The slide of his Beretta locked back on an empty mag and Kevin tossed it aside. "Is that all of them?" Kevin said.

Danny's eyes were wide in shock. "What? How the hell?"

"Is that all of them," Kevin said, coming over and sawing at the zip-ties binding Danny to the chair. "Four inside, four out, and these two. Did you count more than ten?"

"Jesus, you killed ten guys?"

Kevin thwacked him in the forehead with a fingertip. "Calm down, pay attention. Are there any more than ten?"

"I- Jesus, I don't know?" Danny said, working his wrists in circles.

"Better safe than sorry," Kevin pulled his 45 and spun it grip first to Danny. "Round in the chamber, come on we gotta move." He turned for the door.

"That's far enough actually," Danny said rising from the chair. And Kevin froze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"What?"

"Hands up, away from the gun."

Still in shock, Kevin raised his hands as ordered and turned ever so slowly to stare down the barrel of his own gun.

"You're the mole," he breathed.

Danny shrugged, "Guilty," he said, grinning.

* * *

><p>Somewhere over the Midwest<p>

2100 MST

Sarah stared at the woman seated across from her. "You're serious. How the hell did you get to _Danny!" _she demanded. She half expected Frost to call her on the tone; Sarah was hardly in a position to make demands, but the woman merely shook her head.

"We didn't 'get to' anybody," Frost said. "He was groomed for Volkoff's penetration of the CIA from the age of two, his cover legend goes back forever; better to ask how he faked his test results and got himself chosen for the Intersect trials. But, I'm sure you're already putting that together with the 'mystery hacker' who managed to trace you and agent Carmichael down in Clarkdale."

Sarah grimaced. "That him too? I remember he was good with computers."

"The boy does take after his father in that respect," Frost said. "Little Alexei Junior." She sipped from a bottled water.

Sarah cocked her head to one side. There was something behind that... "And does he take after his mother, too?" she said pointedly.

Frost nearly choked on her sip of water. "God, no!" she managed to laugh about it. "He's not _mine_. Volkoff would never trust me that far, even with-" she cut off suddenly, and there was something odd in the way she cut off. The oddities were adding up very fast indeed. Like the fact they hadn't cuffed her. But she wouldn't want to try taking three men in hand-to-hand, and then parachuting out of a plane all with her six-month-old in tow. Sarah stilled her expression; she couldn't let them see her contemplating how exactly she would make her escape. Not until the plan was fully fleshed out and she was ready.

She tried a different tack. "You don't seem too enthusiastic about working for him, I thought maybe... lover's quarrel."

"Sorry to disappoint you." Frost shook her head. "Well, the circumstances being what they are..." there, again. That sense of something left unsaid. Frost cleared her throat. "Left to my own devices, I'd see that no harm ever came to you or your darling daughter, agent Walker. But we live in an imperfect world," she pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something more, but before she could one of the gunmen poked his head in.

"We're coming up on the checkpoint. We need you up front, Ma'am."

"I'll be right there," Frost said. The man ducked back into the cockpit and Frost rose. She paused next to Sarah in the aisle, and bent over to tousle Lisa's sleep-tossed curls. Sarah flinched away, her dislike of the older woman touching her baby evident in every line of her, and Frost met her eyes. She was smiling crookedly, but her eyes were sad. She spat out a series of meaningless numbers, low so that Sarah could barely hear them over the sound of the engines. Sarah stared at Frost in confusion. "Don't forget," Frost said softly, and headed forward to the cockpit. Lisa had come awake when Sarah flinched, and now she started wailing lustily. Frost stopped again and opened one of the overhead bins. Sarah recognized her own baby-bag, taken from the house, and Frost dug inside for a moment, coming up with Sarah's feeding bib. She tossed it to one of the gunmen sitting across from Sarah. "She's hungry," Frost said and disappeared into the cockpit.

The gunman nodded and passed the bib to Sarah so she could cover herself while she breast-feed. The edge was stiffened with a light gauge wire. Neither the gunman nor Frost seemed to have noticed that. While Lisa fed, Sarah worked the wire between her fingers. It only took her a couple minutes work before she had a three inch length of wire snapped loose and drawn through the loose-knit fabric. It would make a handy lock-pick in the future. Frost at least should have thought of that**...**

* * *

><p><strong>Meanwhile<strong>

**Detroit, MI**

"What the fu- how!"

Danny's grin widened. "DDO had us over to his house for the first mole hunt, remember? He nearly caught me coming out of the computer room, but I slipped across the hall and pretended to be using the bathroom. Myers even called me on not washing my hands." Danny laughed now, remembering it. "I almost had a heart attack when he told me I looked 'shifty'. A simple key-logger and a low power transmitter on his off-network home PC gave me all the access I needed. Even the schedule for the bug sweeps so I could shut down when I needed to. Plus, he kept a file with all his passwords when he changed them. Encrypted, sure, but the key-logger gave me the encryption key the first time he opened it. All the encryption in the world can't protect against a physical intrusion like that. Pretty careless actually. Although, it's not polite to speak ill of the dead, I suppose."

"What?" Kevin choked.

"You haven't heard? Myers is dead," he drew a finger across his throat. "They'll have pinned it on Sarah by now."

"If you knew about the trackers why didn't you take yours out?"

"Well, my father's not going to dissect _my_ brain now is he? We wanted to grab the whole team at the 'missile sale', but Laura reacted more quickly than I expected. I kept my tracker on hoping you'd show. I just didn't expect you to get past the men outside."

"Your name isn't really Danny is it?"

"No more than yours is Kevin," 'Danny' said.

"Actually, it is."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Different last name," Kevin shrugged. "You realize you're falling into classic super-villain cliche at this point, don't you?" Kevin managed to regain some of his bravado. "Explaining all this to me?"

"Well, this is the endgame. In two days, the world changes. And nothing the CIA can do will matter a damn even if you I told you everything and you managed to escape. Which," he glanced at the pistol in his hand. "Doesn't seem likely."

"You might be surprised," Kevin said. He went for it, and Danny pulled the trigger. Nothing happened except a click, and then Kevin had the SMG in hand and had snatched the pistol away. He danced away a pair of steps to keep out of range of any Intersect Kung-Fu tomfoolery Danny Volkoff might try, muzzle of the .45 caliber submachinegun never wavering.

"You said there was a round in the chamber."

"There is. I just never hand _anyone_ a weapon that might go off by accident. Basic gun safety saves another life," Kevin thumbed back the hammer and snapped on the safety. "The 1911 is a single-action firearm, not like your Glocks and Berettas. You actually have to cock the hammer first or it won't fire, even if there's a round already in the chamber."

Danny snorted. "This doesn't really change anything, you know."

"It does from where I'm standing," Kevin holstered the pistol and tossed Danny a new pair of zip-cuffs left-handed, keeping the UMP trained center of mass. "Put those on."

"Fine," Danny went on as he complied. "But tell me. When you were killing your way inside unseen-which, by the way, nicely done-did you happen to check the basement?"

"The... basement?"

"Where the other dozen or so of my men are camped out?" Danny smirked. "Just in case you _did_ get past the perimeter guards?"

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Danny pushed a tab on the side of his wristwatch and the face began blinking red.

Kevin's first instinct was to secure the door; if they had to worry about killing Danny with an explosive entry that could buy him enough time to- he realized his mistake and whirled back to face Danny. Idiot amateur move showing the bastard his back. But Danny wasn't coming for Kevin when he had his back turned. A door had opened up in the wall, and Danny was already diving through. It was half a foot thick and locking bars were visible in that thickness of metal all up the visible edge of the door. Panic room. Kevin's thumb flicked off the safety and he sprayed a three round burst after the fleeing mole. It was hasty, un-aimed fire from the hip. The kind of thing that only worked on TV or in a Michael Bay movie, and the rounds all missed high, caroming of metal. The panic room door slammed shut and Danny's voice blared in Kevin's borrowed radio earpiece. "I'm clear! Take the bastard!"

Kevin grimaced. This wasn't going to be fun.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So, the mole stands revealed at last! Anybody pick up on a subtle tone of douche-baggery in Danny's dialogue from the start? I had to go through every chapter and tone him down or it would have been obvious from the beginning. Literally every time I had him speak I was afraid I'd telegraph him being the mole. But I tried not to completely remove his superior attitude.

Anyway, really looking forward to reviews on this chapter, since I've been planning this reveal for so long.

Lots of cool guesses from previous reviews and PMs, but no one guessed Danny. So, was I too subtle? Too many red herrings and false leads? Or did somebody guess and just kept your mouth shut? I'm literally dying to know.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: The Distance

**Detroit, MI**

**2206**

Kevin froze for a moment, near panic, before his training kicked in. The one thing he couldn't afford was standing still. He dropped the SMG to hang on its sling and grabbed for the grenades hanging off his tactical vest. One, two, three, he pulled them free of the loop on his vest, yanked the pin and banked them through the open doorway off the wall down the hall. Two flash-bangs and the third borrowed grenade, the frag grenade, all in quick succession. All three were out before the first went off, and Kevin was moving. He went and shouldered the door closed, took two steps back and knelt down.

His hand went into his pack and hauled out a fresh claymore. There were a pair of spikes that would allow him to plant it quickly in soft dirt. Carpet was close enough for his purposes, and he jammed the mine down. The spikes thudded through into the wooden planking of the floor. It wasn't as secure as he would have preferred, but the two fold-out support legs helped with somewhat with the issue as well. The mine itself was flat but curved slightly. On the convex side of that curve were the words 'Front Toward Enemy' embossed out of the metal itself, not painted on. It often struck non-military as comical. But anyone who'd seen what an M18 antipersonnel mine could do knew you _really _didn't want to get that facing the wrong way, silly as it might seem to have it written on the thing.

A claymore mine was little more than a solid brick of C4 with close to seven hundred pellets roughly the size of #3 buck shot-sealed to the front-facing edge with epoxy. The metal case around it would add its own bits of shrapnel to the mix, but even without it, the Claymore boiled down to maybe the world's biggest shotgun blast. Only instead of the soft lead to be found in a standard shotgun shell, the Claymore's pellets were steel. In the 60 degree front-facing arc, the Claymore was deadly out to 100 meters and would defeat just about any personal body armor known to man within that range.

Kevin figured the house would stop most of them, but it'd still be a nasty surprise for the first few gunmen through that door. Even as he wedged the claymore into place, the flash-bangs started going off, and Kevin held his breath for a moment. He hoped he'd pitched that frag far enough down the hall, or any escape he might try was going to end in one big hell of a hurry. The house shook, but thankfully he wasn't cut down immediately by shrapnel. Kevin nodded to himself and looped a length of wire around the doorknob down across the door around the hinge and to the pin on the claymore.

Someone cursed over the radio. "He have any more damn frags?"

"I didn't see any. He must have taken somebody's tactical rig from downstairs. I think he's gotta be out," Danny replied in like fashion.

Kevin grinned. You go on thinking that. He turned and extended his UMP on its sling, firing a dozen rounds through the window frame and leaped out through the half-smashed window pane. He rolled out onto the roof and bit off a scream as he came to his knees. He had three big pieces of glass in his right forearm and two more in his left shin. another was poking up out of his left shoulder. Kevin cursed under his breath and gripped the biggest shard carefully, ripping it out of his shoulder. One more thing the movies always seemed to gloss over. He grit his teeth and tugged out the shards from his forearm in turn. The rest would have to wait. He cursed again and crabbed forward hunched over to stay out of sight through the row of windows. Kevin was halfway back across the roof before the house shook again and he heard someone scream.

He glanced back and thick dark smoke was oozing out the window he'd jumped out. Voices cursed back and forth over the radio, and Kevin couldn't make out much of it, until someone said. "He must be heading down off the roof, then. We're heading out the front."

"I wouldn't if I were you," Kevin replied. Though he didn't bother to key his radio. A moment later the house shook again and smoke began pluming up around the eaves to his right. Kevin kept on to the end of the roof and swung the SMG around the corner. Nobody at the moment, though the trellis he'd spotted on his way in was still right where it should be. Kevin let his SMG fall to hang on its sling and started climbing down gingerly. His wounded shin was beginning to throb painfully through the wash of adrenaline.

He looked up and to his right, just as he heard the voice over the radio. "I've got visual!"

Kevin let out a shouted curse and dropped free of the trellis. The man in the window's eyes widened and he brought his weapon up. As he fell, Kevin whipped his SMG up and squeezed off two bursts into the window. Then his heels hit ground and he fell over backward, landing on his backside before he momentum laid him out flat on his back. His arms, full of SMG swung up and the man coming out the side door of the garage stared at him in shock. Kevin reacted first and put a burst through the man, even though his sight picture was upside down at the moment. The gunman staggered back a step, all three rounds taking him in the chest which was armored. Kevin shifted aim to put a burst through the man's head as he rolled to his side. Tried to, because after that first round, the 25 round magazine in his submachingun ran empty. He cursed yet again and went for his sidearm. As he drew, his thumb flicked the safety off and he whipped his hand up as he rolled onto his belly and fired his pistol. He half-emptied the magazine before the man coming out the garage crumpled. Kevin kept rolling and brought his outstretched arm back down. By then, the man in the window, who'd started the whole mess was wobbling back into view. Kevin must have got lucky and winged him; blood was streaming down the man outlined in the window by the interior lights of the house.

He lined up the sights and ran his 45 dry; the man toppled backward out of sight. Coughing air back into his lungs, Kevin scrambled to his feet, ejected the spent mag and reloaded his sidearm, holstered it, then ejected the mag from his SMG, flipped it and re-inserted it. On his way through the side door into the garage he put a three round burst into that man as well, for good measure, when the man groaned and moved his gun-hand feebly.

Closing the door behind him, Kevin produced another claymore and set it on the ground, un-primed in the doorway. He didn't have time to wire it up, but just the sight of the thing would give most men pause for a second.

He unslung the SMG and smashed the buttstock through the driver's side window, of a black SUV, swirled it around in the window frame to get the worst of the fragments clear and reached in to undo the door locks. Kevin slipped out of his pack and tossed it in the backseat, flicked out his knife to pry open the panel and strip the starter wires. He knew he was cutting this one close, but he'd been flying by the seat of his pants since Danny had turned his own pistol on him, so he figured he was doing better than he really had a right to be.

The engine roared to life, and Kevin grinned. Okay, might get out of this after all. He turned around to the back seat and peeled open the pack. Down to seven of the dozen claymores he'd borrowed from that nice couple whose house he'd 'commandeered' to run surveillance for his busted rescue operation. He'd taken the precaution of putting the radio detonators on all the claymores, but never really thought he'd need to use them. And he couldn't detonate them selectively. One push of the plunger, and all of his remaining claymores would go off as one. He probably wouldn't want to do that while he was still in the car with them. Still, he took a few seconds to make sure none of the connections had come loose, and stuck the detonator into an empty pocket on the front of his tactical vest.

There was still no sign of pursuit, though time had a way of becoming fluid in the heat of a running gun battle. It could have been fifteen or twenty seconds, or as much as ten minutes, for all Kevin knew. He'd bet it was closer to the twenty second end of things. "He's in the garage," someone said over the radio at last.

Kevin nodded and keyed his microphone. "Better not all rush him at once, he probably set up more claymores."

"Who the hell is this?"

He shifted into reverse. "Take a wild guess, sparky," Kevin said, and smashed the accelerator down, ducking his head and driving all but blind. He didn't expect the SUV to be armored, since a single blow with the SMG's stock had smashed out the driver's side window, so he poked he muzzle of his SMG over the dash and fired blind. By the time his weapon came up dry, he was nearly to the front gate, and he let up on the gas. Bullets cracked the windshield above his head, and pinged off the grill, sending up steam and smoke from the wounded engine, but Kevin was unharmed. He brought the SUV to a halt and wriggled back between the seats and into the back seat and out the passenger door, keeping the bulk of the vehicle between him and the gunmen. Their muzzle flares lit up the night in tiny patches, triangles of flame telling him they were firing blind as much as he had been. Still, bullets pinged and clattered off the vehicle. The SUV made a big target, and his dark clothes would help hide him for the moment, but going over the fence, he'd outline himself in the glow of the streetlamps. He grinned and dug in his back pocket. "Only got one frag," he muttered. "Who do they think they're dealing with?" Kevin tugged the pin free and lobbed it gently over the SUV, counting slowly to five under his breath. At four he was moving, and he broke the top of the fence at five, just as the grenade boomed, cutting the gunfire short momentarily.

Kevin landed on the sidewalk and hitched the sling of his SMG up tighter, half-limping away as if the explosions and gunfire that had shattered the night were nothing to do with him. His shin was _killing_ him now. He didn't expect the ruse would hold up if anyone got a good look at him, but he'd gotten almost sixty yards down the sidewalk before someone shouted "Freeze!" behind him. "Hands up."

Kevin complied, but as his left hand went up, it dipped into the pouch on his vest where he'd dropped the detonator.

"Turn around, slowly."

Kevin did as he was ordered. Someone was up on the wall, hunched over it, probably kneeling on the back of the SUV Kevin had blazed out of there in. Tough luck.

"The hell's that in your hand?"

Kevin grimaced. "Exactly what you think it is," he said, and squeezed. The seven claymores in the backseat, the one in the garage and the one out back of the house with the first two men he'd killed this night all went up together, rending the night again.

The unfortunate gunman who had attained the wall first was blown off the wall and halfway across the street. Kevin continued down the street, tossed the detonator in a storm drain and turned the corner, doffed the tactical vest and light body armor into the bed of his 'borrowed' El-Camino and disappeared into the night.

* * *

><p><strong>Washington, DC<strong>

**2340**

"Where is he now?" Casey said.

"Well, we aren't exactly sure. He ditched the Ring agents who grabbed him and disappeared. I just got an update from the face recognition on the traffic cameras showing him stealing a bus at gunpoint," Beckman said from the speaker-phone on the dash of the Vic. "And I'm on hold with DC Metro Special Tactics Branch."

"You drop my name?" Casey said. "I know a guy."

"Hold on," Beckman said. Her voice came back a moment later. "You're on with Colonel Casey as well."

"Hey, John. I heard you were dead!"

"Lot of that going around lately," Casey grinned. "It's a whole thing. You got a line on this bus for us?"

"I got two teams shadowing the guy. He's got newspapers lining the windows so we can't tell if he's got any hostages in the thing with him."

"I'd call that a negatory," Jarod said. "Doesn't strike me as the guy's style."

"Who's that?"

"My new partner," Casey said. "And I'd concur. Where's he headed?"

"Currently heading on 267 West, toward Dulles, is my best guess."

"Hmm," Casey said. "Doesn't exactly make sense. He's smarter than this."

"Who exactly is this guy?"

"Classified, Dale. Sorry."

"You gonna make it out to Dulles in time to be there for the gunplay?"

Beckman had stayed out of it so far, but the man from the Special Tactics Branch had said the magic words. "There won't be any gunfire. You're to take him alive."

"He tries to drive a stolen bus through security at the airport, they might not have a hell of a lot of choice, General."

"Then you get there and talk him down, Colonel."

"I'm working on it, Ma'am," Casey said, and put the hammer down.

* * *

><p><strong>Jan 8<strong>

**0010**

"We're almost there," Casey said, "Where's our subject vehicle?"

"This damn slow-speed chase is going to drive me crazy," Dale from STB said. "We're still a half-mile out."

Casey grunted. "Okay, I see the roadblock you Metro boys are setting up, I'm hanging up."

He stopped the car and started to get out. "Do we know what we're doing here?" Jarod said.

"Not hardly, kid."

He flashed his badge at the first cop who came up to tell him he couldn't park there. "SSA Coburn, FBI. Who's in charge here."

"Captain Davis," the officer pointed.

Casey even shook his head with an air of command. "Not anymore. Somebody get me a bullhorn. Our man'll be here any minute." He stuck out one hand imperiously, waiting for it to be filled by the bullhorn he'd demanded.

Instead a tall lean man in a DC Metro Police uniform and captain's bars stormed up. He actually had a bullhorn, but he didn't seem like he was too eager to part with it. "Just who the hell do you think you—"

Casey held up a finger and dug out his cell phone. "Ma'am, I'm gonna need that trump card you told me about. Okay. I'm putting you on speaker," he held the phone out to Captain Davis. "It's for you."

Davis scowled and took the phone. "This is Captain Davis, DC Metro, to whom am I speaking."

A woman's voice answered. "Please hold for the president," Davis' jaw dropped open to somewhere down around his knees and his grasp on the bullhorn slacked until he nearly dropped it. Casey swooped in and grabbed the bullhorn, turning away. Jarod followed him a beat later.

"Was that supposed to be the president's secretary? It sounded an _awful _lot like General Beckman," he whispered.

Casey grinned. "Fancy that," and then he grunted sourly, pointing. "Right on time, too."

He raised the bullhorn to his lips. "Come on, Carmichael," he bellowed through the electrical amplification. "Let's talk about this."

The bus' brakes screamed and the vehicle came to a stop at last.

There was a squeal of interference and another voice boomed out from the bus. "So. Talk!" Chuck said.

"This isn't very smart, Chuck!" Casey said. "Your odds of making this work are pretty abysmal. Just give it up and come in."

"I can't do that, right now, John. I really am sorry," The bus' engine revved and it lurched forward.

"Goddammit, Bartowski," Casey grumbled under his breath, before going on into the bullhorn. "We will open fire if you don't stop!"

No further answer came. Casey cursed a blue streak, and the inevitable inertia of the moment took over. Metro Police blasted the bus into a smoking ruin of shattered glass and twisted metal. Casey stared at his hands until the cacophony died out. A team from the DC SWAT-equivalent went out and boarded the ruined bus.

They came back out with weapons slung, shaking their heads. "It's empty!" one of them shouted. Casey was sprinting before he finished speaking. Casey shouldered aside an STB officer and stared into the driver's seat.

There was a webcam affixed to the windshield via suction cup, the wires leading to a black box jammed in on top of the pedals, and an articulated arm of some kind hooked onto the steering wheel. More wires connected everything together, where they weren't severed by gunfire. A more cobbled together piece of junk he'd never seen, but it had worked. "Son of a bitch," Casey breathed and headed back to the roadblock. "Give me my phone," he said to Captain Davis.

"General," Casey said, "it was a decoy. He turned the whole damn thing into a giant RC car. He could be anywhere."

"Actually Colonel," Beckman said. "I think we know exactly where he is."

"We do?"

"Andrews Air Force base just sent out an alert. They've had a security breach."

"Oh, hell. How bad?"

"They found an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel stuffed into his locker in the pilot's locker room. His flight gear was missing."

"And what does he fly?"

"He's scheduled to fly to Edwards out in California."

"Ma'am, I asked what he flies, not when, or where."

Beckman sighed. "I know. It's not your fault, John. Bartowski just stole an F-22. He's took off three minutes ago. He's already disabled the radio and the radar transponder. They don't have an AWACS up right now, and he just went outside our active tracking envelope."

"What's the range on one of those, without airborne refueling?"

"They tell me he's got a full load of external fuel pods. Theoretically, if he bleeds the tanks dry and tries to glide in, 2800 miles, give or take."

"Good lord. That's..."

"Anywhere in the contiguous United States. And most of Canada. Though, there is a bright spot."

"What might that be?"

"He left a note," Beckman said. "'Not to worry, I know what I'm doing. I'm only borrowing the plane. I'll email you the coordinates once I'm safely away.'"

"Oh, crap. He's got a plan. That's never going to end well," Casey grumbled. And then his phone's call waiting beep sounded. "General, can you hold for a second? Somebody's on my other line. I don't recognize the number, but..."

"Go ahead," Beckman said.

Casey flicked over and frowned. "Coburn," he said, on the off chance that they weren't someone who know 'John Casey' wasn't dead.

"Sarah didn't kill Myers," Kevin Woodcomb said in his ear. "Danny's the mole."

Casey heaved a sigh. At this point, given the lengths to which Bartowski had gone to make his escape, he was nearly willing to take that first one on faith. The second one was still a bombshell, though he tried not to let it show in his voice. "You couldn't have called five minutes earlier?"

"This is the thanks I get? Fight my way through twenty to one odds to deliver earth-shattering news and I get, why couldn't you meet your timelines? What happened now?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I've already had a surreal couple of days. Hit me."

"Okay, some of this is still conjecture. But if Bartowski was telling the truth... looks like the bad guys kidnapped Sarah and baby Lisa, and Bartowski just stole an F-22 to go meet up somewhere and hand over Top Secret intelligence to get them back. And now he won't talk to us anymore so I can't tell him I believe him."

Silence on the line for a moment. "You're right. I don't believe you."

"Cute. How fast can you get to DC?"

"Depends. Have you talked to Walsh and O'bannon recently? I'm still topping Detroit PD's ten most wanted. And the running gun-battle and series of explosions I just set off in one of their better suburbs probably isn't helping matters if you want to get picky about it."

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed soundly. "Alright. Lay low until FBI gets to the bottom of that. Take care of yourself. We'll try to muddle through on our end."

He switched back to General Beckman. "Good news or bad?" she asked.

"A little of both. Kevin says Danny's the mole, but he's still dealing with the smear job in Detroit."

* * *

><p><strong>Orion's Secret Airfield<strong>

**Near Barstow California**

**0645 PST  
><strong>

As soon as Chuck hauled the canopy back, his dad started shouting at him. "An F-22! You stole an F-22?"

"_You_ stole like six predator drones," Chuck shot back, levering himself out of the cockpit and letting his legs dangle out the side. "And you're giving me grief over _one _fighter plane?"

Stephen Bartowski stood with his mouth open for a long moment. "Okay. Good point. I got fresh clothes for you in the trunk. I assume you want me to drive?"

"Thanks," Chuck said.

A minute later he piled in the passenger side. "You got the laptop like I asked?"

"Did you one better," he said, passing over a somewhat familiar device.

"Is this your wrist computer?"

"No. I built you the new model. It's got 4G."

"What doesn't these days? Thanks again."

"So. You going to fill me in on what's going on now?" Chuck told him. "No. I won't let you. You're my son. Going to that meeting is suicide."

"He's got my wife and daughter," Chuck pointed out. "And you haven't heard my plan yet."

"Oh, so the plan isn't to go to the meet and get a sniper bullet through the head?"

"No. It's much better than that," Chuck explained on for a few minutes. "So, it depends. How much of that _can't_ you lay your hands to in the next, oh... ninety minutes? If you had to."

"The flash-bangs and the infra-red masking smoke grenades are no problem. The C4 might be a little more problematic. I suppose I could strip out the secondary demolition charges on the Orion Cave."

"The what charges in the what cave?"

"The Orion cave, you know like—"

"No, no, I get it. You have a Batcave. That's great. I'm just kind of upset you couldn't tell me this when I was eight and I could lord it over all the other kids."

"To be fair, when you were eight you didn't have Top Secret clearance. And with good reason, apparently."

Chuck scowled at him for a moment, then turned away and started feeding data into his wrist-computer. He refused to talk to his father for the next ten minutes.

* * *

><p><strong>Detroit, MI<strong>

**915 CST**

**Internet Cafe**

"Dude," the man at the counter said. "You know you're bleeding on my counter?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that," He dug his wallet out and handed over a hundred dollar bill. "That take care of it?"

"Sure."

"Good answer. I'm gonna need some time on one of the computers. Keep the change."

The clerk looked at the hundred dubiously. "You okay, man?"

"Had better days," Kevin plopped himself down and inspected the bandage on his forearm. It wasn't bleeding much, just a little had seeped through. He'd need to go put on fresh once he was done, but he didn't think he'd popped a stitch. Devon had practiced sutures on oranges when he was in med-school, and Kevin had learned quite a bit on the subject then. And subsequently during his Delta Force training. The skill-flash on the subject was largely redundant.

Logging into his email was a pain. He always forgot his passwords, but he decided if he was going incommunicado he at least he should check and make sure— the most recent email raised an eyebrow. The sender's email address was just a jumble of numbers and letters at hotmail; that was enough to send up alarm bells all by itself. The header read simply: 911. Against his better judgment—opening dubious emails was something they warned against during his CIA training—he clicked the icon and read. Kevin glanced at his watch and shook his head. It would be tight, but he could probably make that. "I really hope you're not crazy," he said. "I hope I'm not crazy for going along with it, too."

He went back to the counter. "I need the phone."

"Make up your mind, dude," the cashier said. "That'll be two bucks."

Kevin grit his teeth and glared at him. "How 'bout I break your face instead."

"Here's the phone."

He took the receiver more testily than the man deserved. "It's been a rough couple of days."

The man nodded sagely, though he obviously had _no _idea just how bad. "Oh, I get it."

Kevin put the receiver to his ear and reached over, punching in the phone number. It rang, and then a voice answered.

"O'Bannon," the voice said.

"It's me," he said, looking right at the Internet Cafe cashier. Who couldn't help but hear every word. "I need you to smuggle me to California. "Yeah, you heard me right. No, I'm not high on goofballs. Uh-huh. Thanks. The contact's name? Uh-huh. I"ll be there." Kevin passed the phone back again. "Be honest with me, deal?"

The man swallowed. "Yeah?"

A news broadcast was playing on the TV set over Kevin's shoulder, relaying more news about the wanted fugitive who'd blown up a house for orphans now. Kevin thought that was laying it on a little thick, himself. He pointed at the TV without looking. "You call the cops yet?"

He shook his head. "N-no...?"

Kevin grinned. "Somehow I find you less than convincing. So I'm going to steal your car. Okay?" He stuck out his hand palm up, waiting.

"...Okay," he said, and handed over the keys.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So another big chapter coming up, with all kind of hijinks. And Tomfoolery. And explosions. I don't think there's more than one or two chapter left in this story _without_ explosions. Explosions are important.

Keep the reviews coming. Maybe I'll finish Chapter 26 tomorrow if I get enough feedback on this one...


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Here we go, this is the big one.

* * *

><p>Chapter 26: The Will of One<p>

**Abandoned Car Park**

**Los Angeles, CA**

**1900**

Chuck paused in the stairwell and pulled up the left sleeve of his black blazer. The wrist-comp showed the take from his predator drone, thermal bloom off the vehicle on the third floor of the parking structure. The angle wasn't quite right for him to make out the individual heat signatures of the men waiting for him, but it looked like the vehicle at least, was just about right where he'd expected. Chuck fought the grin off his face and hauled open the door, striding out into the empty structure. Construction had come to a halt a week earlier, and the unfinished structure had an ominous feeling that Chuck couldn't shake.

Volkoff's men had stayed true to form, driving a big black Suburban. Chuck ran through his decision trees one more time before he stopped walking in the circle of light thrown by the vehicle's headlights. One of the men came out of the back seat and approached to within a dozen yards of Chuck, well away from the SUV, but within an easy shot from any of his support in the SUV. "Do you have what we want?"

Chuck considered the question for a moment. "That depends entirely on you. Where are my wife and daughter?"

"The data first."

"No. I want to see them first. Then we'll discuss the exchange."  
>"You're in no position to make demands. Look down."<p>

Chuck glanced down and spotted a pair of glowing laser dots over his heart.

"Now, did you bring what we discussed."

Chuck grimaced and nodded, reached into his coat.

"Slowly!"

He rolled his eyes. "Relax," Chuck said. "I'm getting the thumb drive. Well," he went on, as he brandished the USB drive. "It's actually not a thumb drive." A flick of his thumb extended the little USB connector. "So tell your snipers not to bother. Your boss wouldn't want you to kill me and have nothing to show for it."

"Did you bring the data or not?"

"Well, you didn't keep up your end," Chuck said, "So I brought something better than the data..."

"And what might that be?"

"A detonator," Chuck said even as his thumb pushed the connector back into place, completing the circuit.

The first charges that went off were the shaped charges he'd planted in the ceiling above their snipers' perches, sending a cascade of debris down on the two two-man teams they had covering the meeting site. Secondary charges went off, flooding the commandeered offices in the building across the street from the parking structure with sleeping gas.

Chuck knew what was coming, and had his eyes closed before anyone even had time to react. The next set of charges to blow were the flash-bangs sited all through the parking garage's third floor, followed a split-second later by a dozen infra-red masking smoke grenades, forming a curtain of smoke opaque to thermal imaging all around the third and second floors of the parking structure.

The second set of shaped charges went next, a huge rectangle of primacord and C4 cutting loose a large section of the concrete flooring underneath the SUV and sending it plummeting down into the second floor.

The man who'd come out to talk to Chuck was reeling, shocked and disoriented, deafened by the sudden series of explosions. Concrete dust was billowing everywhere and choking everything. Chuck's in-ear hearing protectors cancelled out the worst of the blast, and even with his eyes closed, he'd been able to see the flash from so many flash-bangs going off at once.

Chuck closed the distance before Volkoff's head goon had time to realize what was happening. The SUV was still in mid-air when Chuck tackled the man, driving him back and shoving him out over the edge of the now gaping hole in the floor.

Chuck waited just a couple seconds for the SUV to settle on its suspension before he jumped down himself. The man he'd thrown had tumbled off the side of the SUV, but none of the others had managed to recover from their sudden plunge. Chuck landed easily atop the SUV and reached into the small of his back, coming out with a garish orange-plastic safety hammer. It was designed to serve a variety of functions in the case of a car accident. One could slide out a safety-pin like protrusion from the base to pop an airbag that refused to deflate, use the recessed blade to slice oneself free of a stuck seat-belt, and then smash out the window with the conical-peen hammer-head so you could crawl free of the wreckage.

If Volkoff had sent an armored SUV to the meet, he'd have to go to one of his contingencies, but Chuck brought the hammer down on the sunroof and safety glass shattered into a cloud of pea-sized fragments. With the cloud of concrete dust obstructing his vision, he couldn't see too clearly down into the vehicle, but he for sure would have heard Lisa Wailing in the backseat if Volkoff had followed through with his part of the arrangment and had his men bring Sarah and the baby along. They obviously hadn't. His hand dipped into his coat pocket again, and Chuck snatched the pin free of the flash-bang before dropping it through the sunroof.

One of the men inside looked up, hearing the sound of Chuck's feet on the roof, and squeezing off a burst from his suppressed weapon. Chuck rolled off the side of the SUV and ducked down against the side of the vehicle just as the flash-bang went off. Inside the enclosed space of the Suburban, at such close range, nobody in the vehicle was going to be a further problem tonight. They'd probably be okay eventually, but more likely than not, suffering from severe concussions every last one of them.

Chuck coughed out concrete dust and hauled open the rear door of the Suburban, divesting the man inside of his weaponry. He recognized the man's weapon, a P90, from Call of Duty; he didn't even need to flash to know that it carried a fifty round magazine which, strangely enough, loaded into the weapon from the top. Chuck slung the P90 over his shoulder on the sling and grabbed the man's side-arm, and a Taser. Behind the SUV, someone lurched forward through the smoke and dust. Chuck turned, bringing up the taser and shot the man center mass.

He darted over and kicked away the downed man's pistol. The dust was starting to settle, though the smoke screen was still in place. Chuck squatted down next to the man who'd been Volkoff's point-man for the get together. Eventually the man's eyes came back into focus and he coughed out a question. "How?"

"You and your snipers got here about an hour ago. I've been here for four," Chuck said. The man's incredulity was palpable even through the pain of his injuries, and despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't quite help a grin. He glanced at the timer on his wrist-comp. "Well, police response time isn't great in this neighborhood, so I guess I've got time to explain. I'm actually pretty proud of this one. It wasn't any great leap in logic to know you'd alter the meeting place at the last minute. That let me eliminate everything outside of a fairly small radius. A few other safe assumptions about where you'd want to set up a meeting where you could kill me without concern for on-site security, and a couple of internet searches brought the list of potential meeting sites down to two. And I had a predator drone shadowing you from your headquarters. How did I find your headquarters, you sak? My wife is lo-jacked. Some kind of interference on site, so I couldn't pinpoint what floor she's on. That's the only reason I even bothered to show up to what was so obviously a trap. I needed to have a little chat with you. So. On what floor are my wife and daughter being held?"

The man's incredulous expression had taken on new and ridiculous proportions, but now a hint of fear came through as well. "I can't, Volkoff would kill me."

"I'm here. Worry about me."

The man blinked. "Did you just... quote Batman at me?"

"Yes in fact I did. And I'm glad you caught the reference," Chuck said. "Anyway, I prepared for this kind of reticence. I can't have you reporting back to the boss man that you gave me the information I needed. So, I'll give you a choice," he dug in his coat pocket. "Another dance with Mr. Taser, maybe to the face this time? Or the roofie-flavored fig newton? Up to you."

The man gave up all the intel Chuck needed, before he succumbed to the sedatives and amnesiac in the newton. Chuck took the man's cell phone and tucked it away. His pre-established escape route took him into a maintenance tunnel that came out two blocks away, and he slid into the waiting 'borrowed' car even as he heard the first sirens.

He was well outside the cordon and heading for his next objective, when the man's phone began to ring. Ever-conscientious, Chuck answered. "Is it done?" Chuck recognized Volkoff's voice.

"Sorry, Sparky," he said. "Me again. The next time you send a batch of goons to kill me, you'll get them back in body-bags. I am entirely out of patience with you."

"Carmichael," Volkoff spat.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"You think I won't take this insolence out on your wife and daughter. Maybe you'd like to choose which loses a hand first—"

"Mr. Volkoff, the second you harm a hair on either of their heads, the war starts. I will burn your little empire to the ground around your ears. I will find you no matter how long it takes, and you will be weeks in the dying. That's not a threat it's a promise, and with the stuff CIA crammed into the computer in my brain you know I can do it. In fact I could probably keep you alive and in unspeakable pain almost indefinitely. Here's how things are going to go from now on. I'm going to call you back at this number in... seventy eight minutes. At that time, you'll provide me with proof of life, and I'll give you the new meeting location."

Chuck hung up on him and breathed heavily through his nose. He had to pull over and vomit onto the street. Oh god, what if it didn't work? He was nearly hyperventilating. Chuck scrunched his eyes shut and fought down the urge to puke again, struggled to get his breathing back under control. If it came to it, he'd meant what he said. And that scared him more than anything. Finally he shut the door and looked at himself in the rear-view. "This better work, asshole," he told himself. For the sake of his soul, if nothing else, this had better work.

* * *

><p><strong>Viper International Corporate Headquarters<strong>

**(Volkoff Industries ****Front Company)**

**Los Angeles, CA**

**1912 PST**

Volkoff was in his office in the Nakamichi building staring at the telephone. "Well," Frost said. Was she fighting down a smile? His imagination. "What do you want to do?"

He steepled his fingers and frowned off into space, thinking. "Carmichael is a worthy adversary; I've known that much for months. I didn't expect him to be this ruthless. Our reports from the Ring seemed to have missed that aspect of his character."

Frost merely shrugged.

Alexei considered. "We'll give him his proof of life," he said. "That's no hardship. See that no harm comes to them until I'm certain Carmichael is dead."

"Surely there's no reason to harm them even _after_," she said. "Do you want to make a habit of orphaning children? Or were you planning to snuff out the babe as well?" There was a dangerous note in her voice now and Volkoff shook his head. He could understand that.

"Of course not," he said. "I'm not a monster. You make a good point. After tomorrow, anything Walker does won't make a damn bit of difference to the new order. I can afford to be magnanimous."

"Then, there is only the matter of who to send to the meeting with Carmichael."

"That is simple. We will send no one. No ground forces he can pick off so easily, in any case. Send the Apaches. Three should be more than adequate."

"That leaves the secondary location with only one bird," Frost pointed out.

Volkoff waved away the concern. "There is a reason I spent so lavishly on the damn things. What good if I never get to use them? Besides, our Surface-to-air missile batteries came online yesterday."

"What about the data?" Frost said. "Don't we need to fix the—"

"It wasn't ever really a necessity, merely a salve to my own conscience. So our margins are a little tighter. A few percentage points, that's all. What difference is seven percent, when you really get down to it?"

* * *

><p><strong>Burbank Buy More<strong>

**2025 PST**

Morgan yawned and glared down at his paperwork once he'd recovered. He was staying late again; it was a pattern that he needed to break. Lester and his new cronies in the Nerd Herd were making life difficult for everybody, especially Jeff. He still sometimes couldn't wrap his mind around Jeff as Nerd Herd Supervisor, but Nasty had finally managed to get the man off the sauce, and post-AA Jeff was even in the running for employee of the month. Morgan didn't exactly want to fire Lester; when the resident Hinjew was on his game he was nearly as good as Chuck had been at getting through the nearly constant backlog of computer repairs they— his ears perked up. He should have been alone in the store, since they closed early on Sundays; who the hell was in here with him?

His hand shook slightly, but he gathered his nerve and went to investigate. The outer alarm was on, so he expected it was just one of his employees. Morgan grinned and padded out of his office toward housewares.

Morgan retrieved the electric carving knife from the display case and scanned the store once more. There was light coming from Auto-install; time to give them a good scare.

"Banzai!" Someone shouted, motion at the door. Instinctively, Chuck dropped the socket wrench and spun, gun coming up into his hand. Morgan stood in the doorway, frozen stiff, gone bone white in shock and terror

"Morgan, what the hell, man?" Chuck lowered the weapon.

"...Um... dude! That's _my _line. You— what are you doing here? Why do you have a _gun_?"

Chuck shook his head and sighed. He holstered the pistol. "I didn't think anybody'd be here. An electric carving knife? Really?"

"Hey, I thought somebody'd just stayed late without running it by me. It's happened before; I just thought I'd give them a scare. And you didn't answer my question."

"Well, it's a long story."

"Believe me, dude. I'm not going anywhere."

"Sarah's been kidnapped, and I'm technically a rogue CIA agent now? Again. So, I needed to borrow one of the Herders."

Morgan frowned at him. "Um... you can't do better than a Matrix for a getaway vehicle? Wait, kidnapped!"

"Okay, Morg, relax. Just breathe," Chuck glanced at his watch. "I'll explain. You know I was under CIA surveillance for a while back when I was in the Nerd Herd. So, they tricked out my Herder with a bunch of Bond styled goodness. Then when me and Sarah went off the grid... look there's not exactly a lot of call for a tricked out Matrix in CIA field-ops. And with the budget crunch, it was cheaper all around to just disable all the extra features than warehouse or destroy the thing and buy a brand new replacement."

"What extra features?" Morgan said suspiciously, and Chuck couldn't help but laugh. Of course that was his primary concern.

"You know, the usual. Ejector seats, self destruct, smoke screens; that kind of thing. Rocket launchers," he said as an afterthought.

Morgan nearly choked. "There's been a rocket launcher-equipped Herder in the back lot for three years?"

Chuck shrugged. "Anyway, I'm trying to get her back in fighting shape so I can use it in my rescue op. I could use an extra pair of hands?"

"I think I need to sit down," Morgan said, touching a hand to his forehead. Chuck kicked a wheeled stool over to him and Morgan sank onto it gratefully.

Chuck's coat pocket began vibrating, and he dug out his phone. "Sorry, Morg, I gotta take this. It's my dad."

"Is he a CIA agent too?"

"Ex," Chuck said, holding up a finger to forestall the avalanche. "Yeah dad, I'm fine. How are things going on your end? Uh huh. Great, I'll be there."

Morgan raised his hand, once Chuck disconnected. But he didn't bother to wait to be called on. "What's his end? His end of what?"

"It's complicated, and dangerous. Morgan, the more you know about this, the less safe you become. I don't want to get you involved in this more than I have to. Helping me re-activate the CIA features on the Herder, that's one thing. I'm not about to ask you to take up arms. Especially not when you come running in here with an electric carving knife."

Morgan nodded; the reality of it all was slowly seeping in. "Your dad's an ex spy?"

"He even had a little bat-cave under our old house."  
>"And you kept it from me!"<p>

"Hey, give me a break, _I _didn't know about it until this morning," Chuck said. Then his watch beeped. "Sorry, I got a call I need to make," Chuck said, tucking away his phone and retrieving his other phone.

Morgan shook his head. "Who needs two phones?"

"I actually have four at this point," Chuck said as he waited for the phone to boot up. He'd kept it turned off so that the GPS couldn't be used to track him. After two rings, Volkoff's voice answered.

"244 . 35 . 167 . 255," he said, and hung up. Chuck recognized the string of numbers as an IP address, and took the moment to power down the phone, and remove the battery for good measure, before he tugged up his sleeve and input the IP address into his wrist-comp's browser.

"Dude what the hey is that thing!" Morgan hissed, but Chuck shushed him hurriedly and he seemed to take the hint.

"Ah, there you are," Volkoff said, peering into a webcam. The picture yawed crazily and then he was looking at Sarah handcuffed to a metal chair. She looked okay; her hair was dirty and she obviously hadn't slept much in the last two days, but unharmed.

"Where's Lisa?"

"She's fine," Volkoff said, his face resuming its position on the screen.

"Forgive me if I dont' take your word for it," Chuck grumbled.

"She's fine, Chuck!" Sarah said. "Don't give him what he wants! We'll be fine don't— hey, get your hands off mffff!"

"Don't you hurt her," Chuck growled. Volkoff rolled his eyes.

"A simple precaution. Can't have her blurting out our location, can I?" the video feed swooped again. Someone was stepping out of frame, a woman he guessed from the cut of her suit, but her back was to the camera and then she was gone. Revealing Sarah glaring at the camera, gagged.

Chuck winced. "Um... you really shouldn't have done that."

"Are you threatening me again, agent Carmichael?"

"No. No. I'm not. But, now you've gone and pissed off my wife. She can get a little... what's the word... apocalyptic when angry." Chuck left it at that; there was no point in warning Volkoff not to upset Sarah. It was too late anyway. He could tell she was already just about two seconds away from tearing her chair apart with her bare hands and stomping the entire building flat like Godzilla. He paused briefly to consider adding in contingencies for if Sarah busted out on her own. Silly of him not to think of it earlier.

"Enough of this foolishness. Where is the meeting to be?"

"Dodger Stadium, 1 a.m.," Chuck closed the browser window.

Morgan stared at him for a moment, then glanced at his watch. "Dude, that's... not quite four and a half hours from now. Is that going to be enough time to get the Herder ready?"

"Oh, I'm not going to that meeting. That's just a diversion; I wouldn't be surprised if he already put out a 'shoot-on-sight' order out on me. I'm not going anywhere _near_ Dodger Stadium. I mean, even the Dodgers don't want to be stuck at Dodger stadium that time of night."

"Then what?"

Chuck patted the Herder fondly. "I'mma drive this thing straight through his damn front door."

* * *

><p><strong>Holding Cell<strong>

**2345 PST**

Sarah was still fuming. They still had her gagged and cuffed to the chair, and one of the men they had guarding her wasn't shy about getting leering at her. That was maddening enough in itself, but the worst part was that they hadn't left her alone in the three hours since they'd given Chuck his proof-of-life webcast. She hadn't yet had an opportunity to work her makeshift lock-pick out of its hiding spot on the outside hem of her jeans. That would take a few seconds all by itself. Then a few more seconds to work on her cuffs. Yet another few seconds to open the cuff on her opposite wrist, but that would be easier since she would be able to steady the cuff with her free hand while she worked. Figure a minimum of twenty seconds from the moment they finally left her alone and she was out of the chair. Only problem was, none of the three men Volkoff had guarding her had left the room in almost four hours.

She flexed her hand, popping her knuckles unconsciously. She just had to bide her time, that was all, as much as it grated on her nerves.

The door opened. _Finally_. Frost entered, nodding at the two guards, then frowned at Sarah. "Why is she still gagged?"

"She tried to kick Mike when he went over," one of the men said, nodding at one of his fellows. "We had orders not to hurt her, so we just stayed away."

That was news to Sarah, though it explained why there hadn't been any attempts to interrogate her. She'd been prepared for that, for them to threaten her daughter if she didn't answer their questions, but the threats and the questions had both failed to materialize. Sarah hadn't complained, but the notable lack of interest in all the myriad things she could compromise for them at CIA under the proper motivation was still surprising. She'd been prepared to resist torture if it came to that, but she'd had no illusions about her ability to resist threats to her daughter.

"Should have thought to cuff her feet to the chair," the one Sarah surmised was Mike said.

Frost shook her head. "Un-gag her, give her some water. But don't let her loose, whatever you do."

Mike sauntered over and unknotted the gag at the back of her head. He leaned closed and—ugh, gross—sniffed her. Sarah jerked against her handcuffs and glared at him. "Touch me again and you're a dead man."

Frost crossed her arms. "I'll give her the water; don't want to risk agent Walker damaging you."

Mike looked a little taken aback; he obviously didn't see how an unarmed woman bound to a chair would go about damaging him, so long as he stayed out of range of her kicks.

The older woman disappeared briefly into the outer room, returning with a bottle of mineral water. She went over and offered the bottle to Sarah, who swished a mouthful around in her mouth and spat onto the floor in Mike's general direction.

Frost quirked a tiny smile. Her lips moved but no sound came out. 'Remember,' with a raised eyebrow turning the word into a question. Sarah pursed her lips and shrugged. Of course she remembered. A bunch of numbers; no real meaning she could glean from them, but she'd commit them to memory nonetheless. Frost gave a nod so miniscule Sarah wasn't sure she even saw it.

Then Frost was headed for the door. She paused in the doorway, frowning over her shoulder, "Mr. Volkoff and I are heading to the secondary location. Is there anything I need to be made aware of?" Her gaze swept across the one Sarah had pegged as the pervert of the group. The other two shook their heads. "Very well. Your orders stand. No harm," and then she was gone.

Sarah was more confused than ever; this wasn't the first she'd heard about the 'secondary location', but their Operational Security on that subject was some of the best she'd ever seen. Not once had anyone ever given even a hint as to where exactly that secondary location might actually be. It could be on the moon for all she knew.

The holding cell went back to silence then, Sarah eyeing the three guards in turn. Several minutes passed. "You know," Sarah finally said to break the silence. "If you just let me go now, I promise not to kill any of you."

"Shut up," Mike said. "We aren't afraid of you."

"Sure you are," Sarah said, thumb and finger held an inch apart. "Little bit anyway... you can admit it you know. There's no shame in it. You have seen my CIA file, haven't you? "

"I said shut up!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. Maybe another tactic. Before she could change gears, all three men put their hands to radio earpieces, exchanging startled glances.

The information coming in over their radios only seemed to make them more and more tense. The color seemed to leech out of them, and knuckles were whitening on the grips of their weapons. And none of them were watching her at the moment. Sarah eased her left hand down off the armrest slowly, as far as the handcuff-chain would allow. She had plenty of reach to get to the seam where she'd painstakingly wedged her three-inch wire. Her fingernail caught the edge and she began wriggling the pick out into the palm of her hand, never letting her eyes stop flitting from one guard's face to the next, making sure none of them had spotted, or at any rate _comprehended_, her actions.

"What the hell?" Mike said, jabbing the transmit button on his radio. "Hello? You got cut off? What's the—"

The entire building shook, and a moment later the room went dark. Sarah's lockpick fell out completely and she began work on her cuff. A low rumble transmitted itself up the building. "The hell was that, some kind of explosion!" After a few seconds of darkness, the emergency lighting came on. Sarah thought the lock on her handcuff had come loose, but she wasn't sure.

"Generators should have kicked in by now, and I'm only getting static on the radios. You two go check it out," Mike said. "Somebody's got to stay with the prisoner.

The other two nodded and headed for the door.

And then there was one. Mike turned as soon as the door was closed and leered at her. Sarah rolled her eyes. Ick. "You do remember I said I'd kill you if you laid a finger on me, don't you? It was like ten minutes ago."

He sauntered over. "And I told you, you don't scare me." He poked her in the shoulder with an outstretched hand. He leaned in close, his head only inches from hers. "Though, if you're _nice _to me, maybe I'll let you escape after all?"

"Thanks, but I got it covered," Sarah said and drove her forehead into his face as hard as she could. It wasn't exactly the best headbutt ever thrown, but it did the job. Mike staggered back a step or two, but not much; he was still in range. He shouted a curse and clutched at his face. She heard the telltale click and her left hand came free. She went for the solar plexus first, driving the wind out of his lungs with folded knuckles. Next, her left hand darted up to crush his wind pipe, but she missed her mark slightly. Her right was still bound to the metal chair bolted into the floor in the center of the room, and she needed more extension than she had. Her right hand was still bound, but her legs were free. Sarah threw herself forward and turned to add momentum to the strike, landing a side kick with all her weight and strength behind it right into Mike's kneecap. He would have screamed, but there was no air in his lungs. Mike somehow managed to stay upright on his one good leg, struggling to get air back into his lungs to scream the alarm.

Sarah couldn't give him the chance. She was in an awkward position, but he was half-bent over above her trying to clutch at his face and ruined knee at the same time. Sarah pulled back, using her grip on the chair with her bound right hand for leverage, grabbed a handful of his hair and drove her knee up into his midsection. It wasn't as precisely aimed as she would have liked, but it kept the man from regaining control of his diaphragm for another few seconds.

She settled back into her seat for a moment, retrieved the pick from the open set of handcuffs hanging from the left arm-rest, and went to work on her other wrist. She spared a glance up from picking the second set of handcuffs to watch Mike's attempt to recover. He was still too busy gasping for breath to shout an alarm; his body literally wouldn't let him waste precious oxygen on anything so non-essential as shouting at the moment, but he was fumbling for the weapon at his hip.

A seated crescent kick knocked the weapon free to clatter across the floor, and then her right wrist was free and she surged out of the chair.

They grappled briefly before Sarah got a foot around behind him and her hip under his center of gravity; Mike went down hard on his stomach, the impact driving the wind he'd managed to regain right back out of his lungs. Sarah landed on his back a moment later. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "I made you a promise," she said, one hand looping around under his head to grip his chin and the other seizing him by the hair. Her shoulders flexed with effort and Sarah wrenched her hands apart. Mike's eyes widened, staring up at her for a moment before the life fled from them.

Sarah swallowed and closed the dead man's eyes, pausing for a moment to look at her hands. One more on the pile. She shook her head angrily. No time for maudlin crap. She still had a baby girl to liberate.

Mike's gunbelt held mostly standard security guard's paraphernalia, cuffs, telescoping baton, spare magazines for—she'd nearly forgotten—his sidearm, pepper spray, and a combat knife. That wasn't standard at all, but she was glad to see it.

Once she'd secured her new gunbelt into place, she cracked open the door of the holding cell and peeked out. The other two were backlit by the emergency lights, coming back her way. She slid the door closed and shifted her grip on the combat knife. She was only going to get one chance at this. It was a struggle to keep her breathing steady while she waited pressed up against the wall next to the door.

The door came open and one of the two guards cursed when he spotted Mike's corpse on the floor. He came in at a rush and Sarah waited a beat as he passed. When the second man to filled the doorway she spun, driving the point of the knife up under the unfortunate man's sternum and giving it a twist. Leaving the knife where it stuck, Sarah turned, whipping out the telescoping baton to its full length and coming across her body with a two-handed smash just as the last man heard the scuffle behind him. His weapon went flying and Sarah followed it up with a tap to the forehead to stun him before twisting his arm up behind him with the baton for added leverage. Grunting in rage, Sarah drove a man several inches and at least sixty pounds heavier than her to his knees and all the way down to the floor with sheer berserk maternal fury. Her borrowed pistol was in her hand a second later, pressed to the last man's temple.

"You have one chance to live. Where the _hell_ is my daughter?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Sarah Angry!

Thanks for all the reviews lately. I really appreciate the feedback. Next chapter, things _really _get crazy.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Like a lot of the chapters lately, this one has been in my head for so long, that it's a huge relief to finally get it out there where people can read it!

* * *

><p>Chapter 27: Light up the Night<p>

**Nakamichi Building**

**Lobby**

**2356 PST**

"Ugh, I hate the night shift," he said. "Seriously, nothing ever happens."

"Nothing ever happens on the day shift either, ever since Viper International took over the top twenty floors."

He shrugged. "Whatever, man I still say—" his eyes widened comically and his friend turned to see what was the matter. If this was a joke, he was going to...

"What the hell!"

The white and red Matrix shot through the glass-faced front of the building in a crash and shower of shattering glass. An amplified voice came from the souped-up sound system. "You guys at the front desk, everybody! This is your one warning. Please leave in an orderly fashion and you will not be harmed."

"Screw that! Shoot him!" They opened fire, blazing away with their sidearms until their weapons ran dry. The Matrix didn't seem much the worse for wear; cracks had spread across the windshield but none of them seemed to have gone through. "Armored? What the—who armors a frickin' Toyota?"

"I did warn you." The voice said. A small cutout popped up in the hood of the little compact, and a pair of metal cylinders shout out on a parabolic arc accompanied by a hollow thump. One of the cylinders bounced off the security desk, the other skidded past across the marble flooring nearly to the elevator bank. Thick smoke billowed out, choking.

"Crap! Tear gas!"

The Matrix kept burping more tear gas canisters until the lobby was thick with the stuff. It started slow, but in less than a minute, there was a veritable stampede for the huge gaping hole the car had smashed in the building's glass facade. Chuck had to use the FLIR he'd installed on the front dash to be sure that there was no one sticking around before he sent a rocket into the security desk, blasting the thing to splinters. The Herder crunched over the wreckage and into the elevator plaza, then around the corner down the hall to the freight elevator. It took two more shots with the tear-gas launcher to hit the button he wanted.

When the doors opened on the subbasement, half a dozen men in tactical gear opened fire on the herder with assault weapons, and Chuck used his last half-dozen tear gas canisters to thin them out so he could drive the Herder straight into the building's generator. "You might want to back up," he said helpfully. And waited until the closest gunman was out of range before he set off the Herder's self-destruct.

* * *

><p>"Boom goes the dynamite," Chuck grinned as he tapped the screen of his wrist-comp from a nearby rooftop. That took care of the building's security sytem, for the moment anyway. He turned to the pair of security guards bound back to back over by the exit onto the roof. "I'll be out of your hair in a minute, guys," he said, tossing them his spare swiss army knife so they could cut the zip-ties.<p>

Well before they were anywhere near freeing themselves, Chuck had his borrowed Huey airborne. Okay, so 'borrowed' was pushing it, considering what was going to happen to the thing in about two minutes when he closed in on the roof of Viper International. It was too bad that Volkoff had bugged out early, Chuck would have been happier all around if they'd been able to tie the whole thing off tonight.

He came in doing sixty knots or so and pulled up at the last minute, using the rotor's backwash to drop his airspeed down to nothing. For a moment he was hovering ten feet over the Nakamichi building helipad. Installing ejector seats like those in the Herder into a Huey would have taken too long—even stripping the ones already in the Herder out would have taken five hours—so he'd made do with a ring of explosive bolts in the pilot's side doorframe. Chuck tapped the button on his wrist-comp screen marked 'Detonate 2' and wriggled awkwardly out of his five-point safety harness. The door shot clear of the helicopter in a roar of sound, Chuck smashed the collective and the cyclic both forward all the way to the stops, and jumped clear. He hit and rolled instinctively and came up to one knee to watch the helicopter lean forward drunkenly. The rotor caught the steel support beam holding the far edge of the helipad and the chopper took on the beginnings of a sideways lurch for just a moment before the whole massive weight came down crunching in the cockpit and tumbling forward, mangled rotor slicing up a shower of sparks off the concrete roofing, and crashing upside down into the emergency roof access.

Nobody was going to be up here to disturb him for a while, but Chuck figured there was no reason to take more time about his business than he needed to.

He dug in his duffel bag, and activated the brick of C4 before he hurled it onto the biggest dish in the rooftop antenna farm. Next, Chuck strode to the edge of the building and shrugged out of the length of rope he had looped over his shoulder. Clipping the carabiner to his rappelling harness, and looping the end around the huge steel safety rail, he tossed the pre-measured bundle of heavy nylon rope over the edge, tapped 'Detonate 3' on his wrist-comp and dove off the roof ahead of the explosion.

Freefall for almost a hundred feet before he started putting pressure on the caribiner to slow his descent. Chuck had misjudged it slightly, and had to squeeze with all his strength; smoke had started wisping out from between his fingers well before he came to a halt. He'd measured out the rope ahead of time, and inched down in fits and starts until he was dangling from the very end clipped into his rappelling harness. "Seventeenth floor," he said. "Kidnapped ninja spy girls, server rooms, and housewares."

It was a lame joke, Chuck knew, but he couldn't take it back now. Thankfully nobody was around to hear it. He twisted on the end of the rope as he dug in the duffel bag. The breaching charge only contained a few ounces of C4, flattened out almost to the size of a sheet of paper, and affixed with a peel off adhesive backing. Chuck slapped the sticky charge onto the window up above his head planted his feet on the glass and pushed out until he was standing perpendicular to the wall.

His fingers tapped the touch-screen on his wrist computer, minimizing the current window for a moment, so he could tap the 'Enable Jammer,' button he'd forgotten to hit before he crashed the helicopter into the roof. Now with the satellite dish upstairs taken out, primary and secondary power disabled to the building, and cellular transmissions jammed, there was no way for those inside to warn their boss exactly what was happening. Hopefully the couple of minutes he'd left them use of their cell-phones wouldn't have much impact on the matter at hand. Chuck grabbed the rope and tried to run along the wall like he'd seen in movies since he was a kid. It wasn't as easy as it had looked. He kept losing traction, even with his rubber-soled combat boots, but after a couple of false starts, he managed to get a sort of pendulum action going.

Chuck waited until he was at the far end of his arc, a good forty feet from the charge he'd planted, before shielding his ears and tapping 'Detonate 4' and kicking off the building. The charge pretty much dissolved a ten-foot section of the heavy tempered-glass surface of the building, and a second later, Chuck's swing took him straight through into the building.

His feet came down on somebody's desk, kicking the computer monitor off to crash on the floor. Chuck wobbled precariously on top of the desk for a moment while he struggled with the quick release on his rappelling harness.

Once he'd extricated himself, Chuck unslung his shotgun, a gift from Casey when he and Sarah had moved into the house. Luckily, like most fighter aircraft, the F-22 Chuck had borrowed for his trip to LA had had a storage compartment where he could smuggle it, along with half a small variety of the exotic shotgun rounds he'd accumulated over the last few months.

The KSG was a relatively newer model of shotgun, with a rather novel design. It had, like many pump shotguns, a tubular magazine slung under the barrel, but the KSG actually had _two _such magazines. In all, it currently held 14 2 ¾" shotgun shells, of varying loads. Chuck turned the shotgun over in his hands and flicked the magazine selector switch over to the left-most position, racked a magnesium flare-round into the chamber and peeked his head out into the corridor. Emergency lights gave the hallway a dim sort of light, barely enough to see by. Chuck squinted. There was a fire extinguisher lying in the middle of the corridor near the elevator. That was odd.

He consulted his wrist-computer for a moment; the cell jammer was interfering with Sarah's tracker, but the last location it had picked up a few minutes earlier, had her in what the building plans showed as a 'maintenance closet.' That's what the plans listed, but looking at the thing, it was obviously a holding cell; the fact that it was on the seventeenth floor and not in a basement or subbasement had been enough to disguise the room. That and Chuck doubted anyone was really on the lookout for that kind of anomaly. He found the door to the holding area. There was a larger outer-office, which was most likely the guardroom for the holding cell. The door had an electronic lock, which with the loss of primary building power had defaulted to the locked position.

Chuck was prepared for this. He dug in his duffel bag once more, and produced a second breaching charge. This one was larger, but still on the lighter side as such things went. It should manage to blast a sizable hole in the wall without killing Chuck, or anyone inside that guardroom. He didn't want to take chances if the door to the holding cell was open.

He figured he could blast the door down, but Chuck set the charge in the wall on the assumption that they'd be at least _watching_ the door, maybe even already have their guns trained on the door. If he bought himself a half-second while the men inside had to shift aim, that might well be the difference between life and death.

Chuck crouched down and peeled off the adhesive backing on his charge, slapped it into place above his head and held his breath. He tapped 'Detonate 5' on his wrist-computer. He charged into the breach a moment later, firing the flare-round in his shotgun and working the pump action with his eyes closed. The next round in the magazine was another trick-round, a rubber slug filled with chemical irritant, but when Chuck opened his eyes after the dazzling flash from his first round faded, he was in an empty room. Empty of people at any rate. There was a card table and a sink, all the other standard accoutrements of a break-room.

The second door, which led into the 'maintenance closet', which he was sure was a euphemism for holding cell, stood ajar. Chuck padded over carefully and nudged the door open with the barrel of his shotgun.

Two dead men lay sprawled on the floor as they'd fallen. One lay on his stomach with his head twisted around to face upward. The other still had a combat knife protruding from his chest. There was a third man, he saw once he managed to tear his eyes away from the dead bodies. He lay on his side, hands and feet cuffed, and a third pair of cuffs bending him over backwards and connecting the chains of the first two sets of cuffs. He was gagged, and unconscious. Chuck considered him for a moment, then turned the shotgun over, flicked the magazine selector and racked the action. He shot the man in the stomach with a bean-bag.

The downed man screamed into consciousness thrashing and struggling against his bonds, eyes wide in confusion and pain. Chuck squatted down next to him."Mmmfffrr!" the man shouted into his gag.

"Hey, language!" Chuck said. "At least, I think that was what you said. Anyway hold still." Chuck reached around and untied the gag from the man's mouth. He grimaced when he realized it was somebody's old gym-sock. "Where'd my wife run off to? I recognize her handiwork."

He should have known. Chuck shook his head ruefully and checked his wrist-comp, trying to ping Sarah's tracker again. Sure enough, it looked like the coordinates were moving. He couldn't be sure exactly where she was, because there was still interference thanks to the cell-phone jammer, but Chuck could tell she wasn't sitting around waiting for him to rescue her.

Next, he had a bit of a dilemma. The server room was nearby, and the place likely had its own independent battery backups. No nerd in his right mind would have let them set up such a thing without it. The daycare was on the sixth floor, and he'd have to take the stairs to get to Lisa. Not to mention the fact that Sarah was already headed that way herself. As much as he wanted to be reunited, Chuck decided to play it safe and stick to the plan. The server room beckoned.

There was one guard at the server room door. Chuck took him down with a well-aimed bean bag to the pills, then rushed over and zip-tied the man hand and foot while he was writhing around on the floor cursing. The server room had electric locks as well, which had defaulted to the locked position. Chuck pumped the action on his shotgun several times, emptying the bean-bag magazine, and fished in his shell pouch for the bold red 'door breaching' rounds. Unlike most shotgun shells, with a metal base and colored plastic tube, they were all the same uniform color. Chuck loaded three of them into the KSG and took up position. A standard breaching round contains roughly 400 grains of powdered metal, nearly a full ounce. The first two took out the top and bottom hinges, and the third blasted the electronic lock to kingdom come. The door started leaning into the server room even before Chuck kicked it clear of the frame.

Once it was obvious nobody had been lurking in the server room itself, he dragged the downed guard into the server room and awkwardly propped the door back up. He hadn't thought that part all the way out before he shot the door completely out of the frame. Chuck stopped the idle self-reproach and hooked his wrist-computer into the mainframe and uploaded the worm. It took all of twenty seconds, before Chuck had total system access. From there, he sent the encrypted signal to Orion so he'd re-route power back to the building. Chuck brought up the security cameras first, locking the downstairs security room out of the circuit as he did, and check the daycare. No sign of Sarah yet.

He scratched the two days worth of stubble on his chin and dug in his duffel bag for the cellular data transmitter. It was set for the pinhole frequency he and his father had established when they set up the cell jammer. In ten minutes, it would copy and transmit the entire Volkoff mainframe to the computer in the Orion Cave. Getting Sarah and Lisa back was the primary objective, but while he was here he might as well at least take a rifle through Volkoff's files. It was only fair, given the circumstances. He took a glance at the file structure of the mainframe while the transmitter booted up.

The file name was what jumped out at him first. 'Project Frostbite,' had a nice ring to it, but the folder was encrypted. Chuck copied that particular folder to the onboard memory of his wrist-computer, just in case somebody came across the transmitter before it cloned the entire drive.

* * *

><p>Sarah, peeked her head out of the door and scanned the corridor. Deserted, dimly lit by emergency lights. The building shook again; from what, she couldn't say exactly. Her first instinct was to take the stairs, but the electronic locks on all the doors had defaulted to locked position. She cursed under her breath and tried to go back and get maybe an emergency code or something from the guard she'd left alive, but the lock on that door had auto-locked behind her. No longer cursing under her breath, she liberated a fire extinguisher, and tried to smash open the stairwell door. The fact that there was a full size fire extinguisher on the floor, went to show that <em>somebody <em>had been taking proper fire safety precautions. But what about those stupid door locks! That had to be a fire hazard, didn't it? Maybe if there was a fire alarm the doors would unlock themselves.

Another explosion jolted her out of her musing, from closer to hand, and obviously an explosion at that, where that first rumble had been somewhat more indefinite. That was the final straw. She left the extinguisher in the middle of the hall. Somebody was attacking the building, and even though the part of her that was a pie-in-the-sky optimist was screaming it was Chuck coming to her rescue, she wasn't about to take it on faith. And anyway, she had a daughter to rescue and an escape to engineer, and Volkoff had to have his fair share of enemies leaving Chuck out of the equation. The elevator wouldn't be coming to her call with the power out, but... It was the work of moments to pry the doors open with her telescoping baton. Shimmying down ten floors of elevator cable wasn't exactly the best use of her time, it would take several minutes to do properly.

Sarah shook her head. There was nothing to it but to do it. It took even longer than she'd feared, since the cables were well greased, and she had to be careful of her handholds at every turn. If she tried to go faster she might lose her grip and that didn't bear thinking about. She'd covered at least seventy feet in her trek downward when things went completely to hell. The power came back and the cable in her hands jerked upwards.

Clinging to a greasy cable over a hundred foot drop was one thing. Clinging to a greasy cable over a hundred foot drop while it was _moving _was something else again. That wasn't the worst of it though, Sarah realized after a moment. The elevator was coming down at about the same rate she was going up on the counterweight cable. She couldn't outrun the elevator going down hand over hand. If she tried to slide down the cable she'd slice her hands to the bone before she got to safety. If she didn't get off this cable, at best she'd be knocked off her grip by the passing elevator; at worst she'd crushed along the side of the shaft like a bug. Her thoughts were racing and her heart hammering suddenly in her chest. A rush of adrenaline. Sarah swept her eyes around the elevator shaft and grit her teeth. It was a double shaft, with a second elevator next to it.

That was her only chance. She'd have to switch cables. The first switch wasn't too bad, the counterweight cable she was clinging to was one of a pair, moving at the same rate and only a couple feet away. It was that much closer to the second shaft. Sarah let go of her current perch with one hand and grabbed the nearby cable as securely as she could. Her hands were greasy now, and the cable itself hadn't had her shimmying down it to rub off the worst of the grease. She didn't have time to consider the risks.

Sarah let go with her legs and swung over to the second counterweight-cable. Her grip slipped and she slid down a foot before she could wrap her legs around the cable. She was still going up, and the elevator was still coming down, ever closer to crushing her. At least it wasn't the express, going something like thirty miles per hour. But even at the slower speed, Sarah's upward velocity would turn it into a collision she had no hope of surviving. The next cable was too far away for her to reach easily, but at least it wasn't moving. Sarah gathered her nerve and made a grab for the stationary cable in the adjacent shaft. Her hand came up a foot short and wobbled for a moment, a heartbeat away from tumbling down the shaft to—no thinking about that! She growled a curse under her breath and racked her brain.

The plan came to her and she put it into motion almost immediately, before she could talk herself out of it. She risked a glance upward at the approaching bottom of the elevator. She let go with one hand and tugged up the hem of her tank top to wipe away as much of the grease just below her hands as she could quickly. It wasn't much, but it allowed her to gain a much more secure grip. Finding a clean spot on her shirt to wipe her other hand was a chore, but she managed at last. Sarah dangled only by her hands now, kicking out with one leg to try and snag the cable. But her upward momentum made that a precarious notion. The cable was under enough tension even with the second elevator motionless that hooking the cable was harder than she'd thought. She felt her sock snag against the steel and got her foot clear before it could do much more than tear the fabric.

Sarah cursed again. Back to the drawing board. She shimmied up the cable enough to wrap her legs around the cleaner part of the cable where she'd made a secure grip earlier and threw as much of her body over toward the safety of the other shaft. She still came up a couple inches short of her goal, fingers stretched out. A glance up. The elevator was dangerously close now, leaving her only seconds to act. Sarah took a calming breath and swung back toward her original perch, building up as much momentum as she could. Then she let go.

For a moment that felt like eternity she hung over the deadly drop before she managed to grab the cable. She slid down several feet, rubbing a great raw swath across the inside of her forearm and tearing a gash in one leg of her jeans. Sarah clung to the greasy cable, leaving a streak down the side of her face. A moment later, the elevator rushed by, and her whole body started to shake.

Her limbs were burning with exhaustion by the time she managed to get her breathing back under control. It wasn't a good bet that she'd be able to climb all the way down to six on the cable, but unless something else came to her, she might just have to. Then she saw the ladder on the far wall of the second shaft. She still had to transfer to the nearby counterweight cable. And she was shaking again by the time she made the last transfer to the steel-rungs punched into the wall of the elevator shaft.

The sheer relief that washed through her when her feet were on something remotely solid nearly did her in, but after another half minute Sarah started down.

At last she came to the sixth floor and pried the door open. Sarah didn't know the layout of this level very well, but there was a helpful wall-mounted fire-evacuation plan nearby. Which also had a section that explained how to manually override the electronic locks if they became disabled. Sarah bit off another curse she didn't have time for and studied the apparent layout of the sixth floor.

Her anger came back, washing away the fatigue and the residues of her harrowing climb down from the seventeenth floor. She had her gun out and at the ready when she came across the open door to daycare.

Sarah kicked in the door and fell into a firing stance.

The place was almost entirely deserted at this time of night, which she was grateful for. Sarah rushed in with her gun angled down, peeking in offices and playrooms, until she found the nursery. It wasn't deserted. Some guy in black combat fatigues was standing over one of the cribs. "Hands up, asshole!" The man froze. But then he raised his hands over his head, holding Lisa up so she could see. "Give me my daughter!"  
>"Your daughter," the man said turning slowly. "That is sooo typical. What happened to <em>our <em>daughter? Huh?"

Sarah's eyes widened and she realized her jaw had dropped open in shock. "Chuck? What are you doing here?"

"You wound me! Why do you think? You realize you're stepping _all over_ my rescue operation here, though, don't you?"

"I never was good at the whole 'damsel in distress' act, and you're stepping all over _my_ escape attempt!"

Chuck grinned and gave her a quick smooch on the cheek. "Wow. You're a mess. What happened? Are you okay?"

"I climbed down the elevator shaft. And I'm fine. You have a plan I hope? I've just been winging it."

"Yeah, here, put this on," he said, pulling out a hugely bulky bullet proof vest from a duffel bag. Chuck wasn't much use helping her into the vest since he still had Lisa in his arms. She realized a moment later that it was actually three vests sewn together around the baby-bjorn baby-carrier. No makeshift number here, like she'd had to make do with during their escape from that bunker when Lisa wasn't even a month old.

"When did you have time to do needlepoint?" Sarah demanded, while she worked the velcro.

"Grampa B had time between stealing helicopters and procuring C4," Chuck said, handing Lisa over to be carefully ensconced between layers of Kevlar fibers. "Come on, we gotta move. I'm overriding the security locks on the stairwells so we won't have to deal with massed attacks from Volkoff security, but we need to get on with the plan."

It looked like he was leading the way toward the elevators. Sarah grabbed his sleeve. "Chuck, the elevators are locked, I had to climb down the cables, remember? I don't like the idea of trying that with Lisa in tow."

"You... oh," he winced. "Sorry about that, my bad." He pushed two buttons on his wrist-computer and the elevator doors slid open on command. "I control the elevators too."

"So that was you in the elevator that almost crushed me!"

"Um... oops?" Chuck shrugged sheepishly and strode into the elevator. Sarah glared at him for a moment, but followed. Chuck pushed P for Parking, she assumed. "Here, take this too," Chuck said, producing a boxy little submachinegun from a sling across his chest. Sarah recognized it and wondered idly for a moment how and where Chuck had managed to get his hands on such a thing. "Oh, almost forgot," next he produced a bright red elastic-headband with little hot pink bunnies on it. Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"Earmuffs?"

"Hearing protectors for Lisa," Chuck said, "In case we have to shoot our way out."

Sarah tried and failed to keep her expression severe while she settled the thing into place. She was still a little upset about the whole 'near crushing by elevator incident.' But baby hearing protectors? With bunnies on them? She shook her head and stroked lisa's hair down around the headband. It was too cute. "Do I get a pair too?"

"Yeah. No bunnies though." Sarah's set of ear protectors had a flat black headband. "I guess you planned for everything, huh?"

"Well, I didn't really think through all the ways how you escaping on your own might complicate things," Chuck said. "Or I'd have been watching the cameras in the elevator shaft so I could have just stopped and let you on and I'm really sorry about almost crushing you with an elevator so please don't be mad at me—"

Sarah rolled her eyes and smushed his mouth closed with her hand. "You're babbling. You have access to the security feeds? What's the parking garage look ike?"

"It was pretty much empty the last time I checked," Chuck said tapping away at his wrist-comp. She blinked, noticing the thing for the first time. "I don't think there was any structural damage bleeding through from the Nerd Herder's self destruct."

"You... wait, what?"

"Stopped by the Buy More and reactivated all the spy features. Remote control on the Nerd Herder let me take it down the freight elevator and blow the backup generators with the self destruct charge," Chuck explained on for a minute how he and his father had hacked the city grid to cut and then restore power and let Chuck take over the building's electronic systems in the meantime. She mostly tuned it out.

"And the parking garage is still empty?" She tried to nudge him back on topic.

"Oh, right," More tapping on the wrist-comp and then. "Oh, crap."

The elevator dinged.

But Chuck's shotgun came up and roared suddenly even before the elevator door was halfway open. The man who'd been waiting for them crumpled to the ground in a coughing fit. There was a cloud around him. Chuck put a hand up to stop her from heading out of the elevator. Sarah eyed the shotgun askance. "What did you just shoot him with?"  
>"Rubber bullets filled with tear gas," Chuck said. "I didn't expect it to you know..." He made a vague motion with his free hand. "Big cloud like that... so. Uh..." Chuck worked his wrist-comp some more. "I've got a secondary route, we can go around..."<p>

Chuck put his back to the wall and inched around the unfortunate man on the ground, then led the way down a service corridor, down a flight of stairs and out into the parking garage proper. At the other end of the parking garage, another door burst open and half a dozen men with submachineguns just like Sarah's stormed in.

Sarah squeezed off two quick bursts as they ran for cover behind a concrete barrier.

"I hope you got a plan B!" Sarah shouted over the sound of gunfire. Chuck popped up to squeeze off a round from his shotgun. A light fixture exploded more spectacularly than she would have expected.

"Using letters to denote contingency plans suggests you only have 26 plans."

Sarah stared at him in surprise for a moment, then laughed. "So what number are we up to?"

"7 Echo dash 2," Chuck said.

"And what does that entail, exactly?"

"I give you cover fire with the tear gas rounds while you go hotwire us a car. Oh, but no convertibles!"

"Is that really a concern?"

"It is if we end up in some of the chancier parts of plan 8!"

"Noted. Do you have a cheat-sheet or something for me so I can follow along?"

"Left outside pouch on the vest."

Sarah gave him a hungry grin for a moment. "If we get out of this alive you're not going to be able to walk straight for a week, Mr. master plan."

Chuck's nervous swallow wasn't the least bit theatrical in nature. Sarah laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Cover fire on three," she said.

He nodded. "Three!"

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So, I apologize for leaving you on the 'Butch and Sundance'-esque cliffhanger for a while. But I seriously cannot divert time to fanfiction at the moment. Updates will henceforth be much longer in coming. (There are only a few chapters left anyway) What you can take away from this, however is that my focus will be on finishing my first collection of short stories and my novel. Which at some point, you should be able to purchase. Fingers crossed. Anybody know a good literary agent?


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Car Chase City

Chuck racked and fired as fast as he could, laying down a wash of covering fire as Sarah sprinted across the parking garage. He was loaded with more of his rubber tear gas slugs, sending up clouds of choking gas. But he swept the enemy cover positions, elongating and thinning out the region of gas. It wasn't enough to suppress the return fire completely. Chuck had to duck back under cover almost immediately after he emptied the tube magazine on his shotgun. Bullets were whizzing by his head and taking divots out of the concrete around him.

Chuck scrambled to reload, but he didn't bother checking what he was loading with. All the rounds in the shell bag were 'less than lethal' rounds. The really deadly stuff was in a bandolier across his chest. He went for the bandolier, since the second mag already had bean-bag rounds loaded.

He finished loading and rolled over onto his stomach, crawling over to the end of the concrete barrier he was sheltering behind. Hopefully they'd expect him to pop back up at some point to return fire. Chuck stuck the barrel around the corner and fired blind. It was dragon's breath. A huge gout of flaming shrapnel spewed across the parking garage, burning at better than 4000 degrees. It burned out in less and a second, but for that briefest of moments, Chuck had felt as if someone had opened an oven right in front of him. The shielding bulk of the concrete barrier helped a little. Chuck popped back into cover and racked the pump action.

"Move!" he heard Sarah shout. Chuck peeped around his cover and spotted her, hunkered down behind the front wheel well of yet another of Volkoff's ubiquitous black Suburbans, waving him over frantically. He leaned a little further out, and spotted one man out in the open, one arm on fire, flailing around in front of the other gunmen. Oddly enough he wasn't screaming. He was probably in shock, or he'd have remembered to stop drop and roll.

He met Sarah's eyes and she nodded, popped up over the hood of the SUV and began letting off quick bursts from her P90. Short bursts, three or four rounds at a time, sending the gunmen scrambling for cover once more. They fired blind back in Sarah's general direction, and a few of the rounds actually managed to hit her cover vehicle.

Chuck slid into cover on his knees, making good use of the protective gear he'd worn for his earlier descent down the side of the building. He planed his back against the rear wheel; Sarah's told him once that most rounds could go through a standard car body but wouldn't go through the heavier construction in the wheel.

"How's this?" Sarah said, a hand wave taking in the SUV.

"Fine," Chuck said then stuck his shotgun around the rear edge of the SUV and blind fired again. Another huge gout of flame ripped out and someone started shouting hysterically.

Sarah nodded curtly and smashed out the window with the buttstock of her submachinegun. Or tried to. It bounced off with a dull hollow thump. She grimaced. "Armored. You got any lockpicks?"

"_You_ do," Chuck said. "Right side lower zippered pocket." He sent another gout of flame out behind the SUV and the sprinklers came on, soaking everything.

Sarah puffed wet bangs out of her mouth and glared at him, fingers working by feel as she tickled the lock open. "Enough with the flame thrower rounds already, you're going to melt the barrel! Okay, we're in."

Sarah climbed in the passenger side and wriggled across the console into the driver's seat. Chuck piled in behind her and immediately buckled his seat belt. Sarah grinned. "I see you're well trained now after the last time you got in a car with me."

Chuck blinked and then shrugged. "Yeah, well. I've seen what happens when you don't buckle up."

Sarah accelerated in reverse out of the parking spot, spun the wheel to swing the rear end around and clobber the guy still dancing around trying to slap the fire out instead of trying something intelligent. "What's going on. I heard some of Volkoff's spiel about a meeting?" She put the foot down and they were off.

"Yeah. We won't be going to that," he said as bullets began peppering the back windshield. "We can worry about that later, let's get out of here."

They came around the corner and hit the ramp up to the next level, but then the SUV fishtailed. Sarah spun the wheel back and managed to recover. "What the hell was that?" Chuck said.

"We just lost a tire," Sarah explained tersely.

"Oh. Sorry. Not a criticism."

Lisa reached up and tried to pull off her earmuffs and Sarah pulled her daughter's pudgy little hand away. "No, leave those on, baby girl."

"Eyes on the road please?"

"Nag, nag, nag," Sarah said. "Roadblock up ahead."

"I'm on it," Chuck said. He pumped the action on his shotgun repeatedly, ejecting the last few dragon's breath rounds and feeding a pair of shells with distinctive green casings in. Sarah stopped the SUV thirty yards or so before the security checkpoint blocking the exit of the parking garage. A handful of uniformed guards with pistols barred their way, having come out of their little security booth. Chuck rolled down his window and racked a load into the chamber, leaned out and shouted, "Get down! This means you! Fire in the hole!" before he sent the first frag-12 round downrange.

He was aiming well clear of the gunmen, since the High Explosive Fragmenting Anti-personnel round had a lethal radius of somewhere around a meter and a half. Instead of aiming at the gunmen, he was concentrating on the guardshack. As soon as the 19mm mini grenade left the barrel, it deployed stabilizing fins and armed itself. A split-second after it passed through the guard shack window, the round blasted out 90 steel pellets the size of a BB, which blew out all the glass in the guard shack. Shattering the heavy security glass stole much of the pellets' power, and the flying glass and Bbs were merely painful instead of deadly. The gunmen dove for cover and Chuck blasted the second guard shack in turn.

Sarah's eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and put the SUV back into gear. One of the gunmen managed to get back to his knees as they drove past. Chuck flicked the magazine selector and planted a bean-bag round in the man's chest, knocking him back down. "Chuck! What did you just do?"

"Bean-bags. Relax, he'll be fine. Sore in the morning, but fine."

The SUV hit the street in a skidding turn, nearly fishtailing out of control thanks to the flat rear tire. Sarah spun the wheel frantically to get the vehicle back under control and stomped on the gas. They were halfway down the block before the first SUV blasted out of the parking garage in pursuit. Which was right about the time they heard the police sirens.

"Alright! The Cavalry!" Sarah said.

Chuck shook his head. "Yeah, about that. You're still a suspect in Myers' death, and I'm kind of wanted for treason. So..."

"You're _what!_" Sarah roared. "Charles Irving Bartowski, what did you do?"

"Volkoff threatened to kill you and Lisa if I didn't steal some data for him. You and Lisa were still in the air at the time, so I had to go along with him at first. The plan didn't really come together until I had to figure out how to sneak into Andrews to steal a Raptor."

"What!"

"Sarah! Watch the road!" A police cruiser loomed out of the night, lights flashing and siren blaring. Sarah swerved around it and into oncoming traffic. LA, even just after midnight, wasn't devoid of traffic. Far from it, an oncoming pickup leaned on its horn and Sarah turned left across the intersection. One of the three SUVs tailing them sideswiped the pickup in a huge clash of screaming metal and rolled over, skidding on its roof into a busstop spraying shattered glass across the sidewalk. The other two SUVs went around the crash and the police cruiser finally got turned around, coming in pursuit of their pursuers.

"Well. That complicates matters," Sarah said, grimly clutching the steering wheel. "Where's this on the plan sheet?"

"I think I need to run some calculations," Chuck said, tugging a police radio out of his vest and passing it over. "See if you can keep us ahead of any roadblocks as they form," then he pulled out a radio earpiece from his collar and fit it into his ear. Sarah spared a curious glance as he keyed the throat-mic. "Gambit to Archangel. Looks like Plan 8 is going sideways. Roger. We're heading... east on-" Sarah swerved through another turn. "Scratch that, south on Mateo coming up on the 10. Plan 9 is a go."

"What was that about?" Sarah demanded.

"Just keep us ahead of the cops and Volkoff's goons and we'll be fine. I'll explain later."

"What`s Plan 9?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Chuck said.

The chase wound its way south, and then back west, and Sarah dodged roadblocks and police cruisers with such ease they actually managed to gain some ground on the pursuing Volkoff goons at first. As more police joined the pursuit between them and their pursuers, an already tenuous situation became completely unmanageable. Volkoff's men, instead of doing the sane thing and breaking off the pursuit, opened fire on the police.

Chuck craned his neck to watch, but there was little enough to see, just muzzle flares and flashes in the dimly lit street. "Crap... I was afraid they'd do that." It wasn't _quite _as stupid a move as it seemed. The police weren't making distinctions between the three SUVs, and now two of them had opened up on cruisers. Sure enough, a few moments later bullets began plunking into the rear of their SUV. Sarah slewed them into another hard turn, and the SUV fishtailed. They lost another tire and Sarah nearly lost control entirely.

Sarah weaved through traffic, zipping in an out of oncoming lanes, taking turnings seemingly at random. Finally their rear tires disintegrated completely, and the backend dropped, fanning sparks behind them. It slowed them down enough for a police cruiser to pull up and smash them in the back panel, spinning the SUV out. Sarah cursed and just barely managed to keep the wheels on the pavement as they finished a 180 degree turn and coasted to a stop. More cruisers came out of side streets boxing them in. A line of pursuing cruisers swerved out to block the way they'd come. Chuck could hear gunfire in the distance as Volkoff's goons exchanged fire with the LAPD.

"Get out of the vehicle with your hands up, or we will open fire!" an amplified voice shouted. More police were showing up every second.

Sarah shook her head. "Don't feel bad, Chuck. It was a good try."

"Don't count me out yet, Babe," Chuck grinned, and keyed his microphone again. "Archangel, I'm going to need an ETA on Plan 9. Okay. Popping smoke."

"Chuck, what?"

He pulled out a smoke grenade, rolled down his window just enough to slip one hand through the gap and yank the pin. "Pickup in twenty five seconds."

A few seconds later, they heard the first rotor. "I was wondering what was taking the police choppers so long."

Chuck grinned. "That's not a police chopper... take a look at the cheat sheet I made you. Plan 9."

Sarah frowned and dug out the accordion-fold document. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"That old movie we watched a couple weeks ago, Plan 9 From Outer Space. I thought I'd try for thematic appropriateness."

Sarah read, and then her jaw dropped open and she stared at Chuck. "You've got to be kidding me."

He waggled his eyebrows at her and checked his watch. "Five seconds. Hang onto something."

A huge metallic 'clong' was followed almost instantaneously by the SUV lurching upward into the air. Sarah craned her neck and looked up through the windshield. The bulk of a heavy freight helicopter loomed above them, and she cocked her head toward Chuck. "Explain. All of it. Starting when we got separated back in DC."

"Give me a second," Chuck said, unhooking his seatbelt and climbing awkwardly into the backseat. "The chopper doesn't have enough generator power to keep the electromagnet turned on forever." He laid down in the backseat and pushed open the back door. The wind made it difficult to keep the door open, but Chuck put his shoulder in and shouted over the wind. "There's a extendable pole in the duffelbag, could you hand that back to me?"

"What the hell is going on?"

A handful of thick cables woven together in a harness clattered down the side of the SUV, and Chuck took the pole and hooked it. He hauled the pole back in and juggled it around the door so he could screw the ends of the cable into the set of matching cables that hung from the passenger side of the roof. Chuck collapsed the pole and tossed it in the rear cargo area before climbing back into the front seat. "Okay, Archangel, reel us in. There," Chuck said. "Now we can talk. Flight to the drop point is fifteen minutes or so."

"Why aren't there any police helicopters following us."

"Oh, that. Well, it seems they all had spontaneous total computer systems failure," Chuck said. He grinned and shrugged. "Or so I hear."

Sarah grabbed him by the tactical vest, hauled him across the center console and kissed him silly. "Very impressive Mr. Bartowski. Now, I need a briefing on exactly what we're up against."

Chuck nodded. After that kiss, he'd probably have agreed to just about anything. He was just finishing the explanation about the Nerd Herder remote control when the helicopter flared for a landing.

After they unhooked the cables securing the SUV to the chopper, and climbed out, Sarah suffered another surprise. "Hey, gang," Kevin said. "What's the word?"

Sarah punched Chuck in the shoulder. Hard. "Ow, come on!"

Kevin grinned. "He didn't tell you I was flying the chopper?"

"No, I just assumed it was Orion. How did you get here? I thought you were a wanted man."

"Walsh and O'bannon knew a guy in the Marshal service, got me put on a prisoner transport across to North Cali, and I drove down, borrowed the helicopter from a forest-fire prevention outfit. Timing was a little tight. No time to go into more detail. We've got transport, but the cops are only a few minutes out."

Kevin got Chuck and Sarah in the bed of a pickup truck and covered them with a tarp. Lisa was out cold, and rode up front with Kevin in the booster seat. The level of forethought and planning was reassuring. Sarah felt herself drifting off with her head on Chuck's shoulder and tried to fight it.

* * *

><p>0115<p>

The pickup lurched to a stop and Sarah bolted awake. She fought the instinct to sit up. They might still be trying to get through police cordons, and she couldn't risk moving and giving them away. The truck shook, door opening and closing. "We're clear," Kevin said, pounding the edge of the truck bed with his fist. "Up and at 'em you two."

Sarah kicked free of the tarp and scanned their location. She frowned. "Where the hell are we?"  
>"Encino," Chuck explained. "That's the house I grew up in."<p>

"Well that's hardly good tradecraft, Chuck."

"Dad bought the house back through a shell corporation; he's got a secret lair in the basement," Chuck said. Kevin dug in the pickup bed for a heavy duffel bag. Chuck raised an eyebrow.

Kevin shrugged. "Weapons and ammo; Marshal service gave me a couple donations."

They knocked at the door, and after a minute or so, Stephen Bartowski opened the door and ushered them in. "Hang on," Sarah said. "Kevin did you tell Casey you were coming down to help out?"

"What? God no. I couldn't risk him not going along and messing things up. I mean, do you have any idea how Ellie would respond if I'd gotten her niece killed?"

"Hold on one second. Are you, big shot delta force guy, actually physically scared of my sister?" Chuck said, smirking.

"Oh hell yes, I am. Her hugs are already preternaturally strong. I don't even want to imagine what would happen she gets supercharged with grief," Kevin said. "Not to mention the fact, she's also a surgeon; if worse came to worst, she could dispose of the body if necessary. Any way you slice it that lady is one scary package, sister in law or not."

Sarah failed to keep in her laughter, and stifled it with a snort, meeting Chuck's eyes for a moment. That was enough to set him off as well, and Sarah collapsed into his side fighting back giggles. Chuck shushed her and handed Lisa off to his dad so their muffled laughter wouldn't wake her up. He was still trying to put a brave face on. Kevin rolled his eyes and made a 'wrap it up' kind of motion with his hand.

Chuck's laughter slowed and he took on a thoughtful expression. "Huh. Actually you know, I think Kevin may have a point."

Stephen shook his head and headed into the kitchen with Lisa.

"Seriously?" Sarah said.

"Yeah, I think maybe I've just gone numb to it over the years. But now that I think about it, there was this time when I was eight or nine... I took apart her hair dryer to see how it worked and couldn't get it back together. Yes. Kevin's right, she is legitimately terrifying."

Sarah just looked at him flatly for a long time.

Kevin smirked and went into the dining room to start setting out their weaponry. Chuck and Sarah added their own contributions and then excused themselves. Sarah hit the shower while Chuck got the spare clothes he'd purchased for her.

Once she finished in the shower, Sarah found her way into Chuck's old bedroom and stood for a while in her towel, just soaking it in. The sheer nerdiness of the place wasn't exactly _shocking_, but it was a little surprising to learn that he had indeed mellowed a little on that front. It was more surprising that Stephen had kept his kids' rooms virtually untouched for—she did the math in her head—fourteen years.

The entire room was covered in posters and action figures that hadn't made the cut when he and Ellie had moved. Chuck didn't talk about that time willingly, and she had always assumed that they'd lost a lot of things. Sarah moved over to the bed and smirked. Spider-man coverlet, and sheets.

Chuck walked in at that moment, and she turned the grin on him. "Spider-man sheets? Really?"

"Oh my god," Chuck said. "I didn't— I thought all this stuff was in storage."

"Huh?"

"We put it in storage, but when I was at Stanford and Ellie was in Med School we barely had enough to cover food and clothing. We couldn't make rent on the storage locker. The storage company auctioned it off. Like that reality show I hate? I guess dad bought it back... and never mentioned it," Chuck shook his head. "God, he has got to be the most passive aggressive dude in the history of the Bartowski family."

Sarah shrugged. "So I guess you never had a girl in your Spider-man themed love cocoon?"

Chuck snorted. "Yeah, you might say that."

"Well," Sarah said, letting her towel drop to the floor. "There's a first time for everything."

* * *

><p>"Mmmm," Sarah said later, Chuck's arms wrapped around her, and Chuck's Spider-man sheets nice and warm around them both. He had one hand on her belly, and Sarah twined her fingers through his. It was late, and she was about to drift off. Maybe now was a good time to broach that subject. She was still trying to figure out how to phrase it, when a loud wail went up from downstairs. "Ugh."<p>

"I'll get her," Chuck said.

Sarah moaned again and shook her head. "No, I need to feed her. I should get up."

"Have you gotten any sleep in the last couple days?"

"Have you?" she said.

Chuck shrugged. "Touche," he found the shopping bag and thrust it at her. "Change of clothes are in here. Nothing fancy, I had to do my shopping at what was left of Castle. They forgot a couple of crates of our old mission duds when they packed the place up."

Sarah shrugged into a pair of BDU pants and a tank top then tugged on her combat boots. "Well at least the boots still fit. That was a risk, though wasn't it? They might've turned the surveillance back on..."

Chuck was shaking his head. "My dad had the specs from the business before Ellie's wedding, so I got in and out fine."

They headed downstairs and Chuck changed Lisa's diaper. The littlest Bartowski was hungry as well, so Sarah took Lisa into the kitchen for privacy in which to breast-feed.

"Chuck, you want to give me a hand down here?" Stephen said from the secret entrance to the Orion cave in the downstairs hallway.

Once Sarah had sated her daughter's hunger, she went down into the Orion cave in search of Chuck. "Learn anything yet?"

Chuck glanced over his shoulder. He and Stephen were hunched over a bank of monitors. "No, not yet. I still think there's got to be something to this Project Frostbite, but brute forcing the encryption could take days."

"Project what?" Sarah frowned. "Try one nine seven sixty-five twenty-three."

"What?" Chuck said. "Why?"

"When they had me in the holding cell, Frost told me to remember the number," Sarah said. "She seemed pretty intent on making sure it was stuck in my mind. It must be important somehow."

Chuck nodded and turned back to the computer. His father was pale and sweaty. "Dad, what's up? What's wrong?"

"That's not a number. It's my wedding anniversary. May twenty third, nineteen seventy six."

"Dad, what are you saying?"

Stephen Bartowski's hands shook as he typed. Sarah leaned in. A green line of text flashed on the screen. Access Granted. And a familiar face popped up in a QuickTime window.

"Oh, god," Chuck whispered. "Mom?"

TO BE CONTINUED...


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: And now the big reveal chapter...

* * *

><p>Chapter 29: How the Gods Kill<p>

"Are you sure this is the right neighborhood, Morgan?" Devon said from the front seat. "This doesn't strike anybody else as an odd place to meet Chuck and Sarah?"

"Devon, hush," Ellie said. Her eyes widened. "I— hang on, I recognize this street. Pull over. I think we're here."

"Yeah, where's here?"

She pointed out the passenger window. "That's the house where Chuck and I grew up," she said. "Morgan, how did you know about this place?"

"I just followed the directions Chuck gave me," Morgan said. "There wasn't a street address involved so gun!"

"What?"

There was a tapping on the driver's side window, and Devon flinched away from the muzzle of a pistol. A hand appeared in the window, making a standard 'roll down the window' kind of gesture.

Devon swallowed and hit the button, then breathed a sigh of relief when Kevin squatted down beside the car.

"You're late," Devon's kid brother grinned. He peered in the car and the grin vanished. "Who's the blonde?"

"That's my Ass-man," Morgan said.

Kevin's brows went up momentarily. "'Man'?" he said. "She's kind of got an adam's apple, but I'm pretty sure that's a chick. Uh, no offense ma'am."

"None taken," she said. "He means I am Assistant Managers. At Buy More."

"You brought a civilian?"

"Am ex-spetznaz," she said. Kevin's brows went up again.

"Russia doesn't let women into combat roles in the armed forces."

"They make exception," she said and cracked her knuckles. "Although, as far as Russian Army knows, I am Anatoliy. Not Nastasha."

Kevin grunted a laugh. "You bring any guns?"

"Da," she said. "In back."

"_That's _what's in the bag?!" Ellie said shrilly.

"Alright, everybody get inside," Kevin said. "We're making a spectacle out here we can't afford."

"Then will you tell us what's going on?"

"Once we're out of the street," Kevin said. "But it's a long story. Wow, she's tall."

Nastasha gave him a level look and slung a heavy duffel bag over her shoulder. It clinked ominously.

Kevin led the way up the sidewalk to the house and opened the front door. He held the door open while everybody filed through and closed the door behind himself.

Ellie rounded on him. "Would you kindly explain now?"

Chuck came in from the back hallway, phone to his ear, pleading with whoever it was on the phone. "No! Would you just listen to me? No, don't hang up on mee!" He clenched the phone in his fist and looked for a moment as if he was going to throw it. "Hey, you're here. And you're big as a house. I forgot you were pregnant."

"Forgot! What do you mean big as a house? I'm barely starting to show! No, you won't sidetrack me. I want to know what's going on, damn it!"

Chuck nodded sadly. "You'd better sit down. Dad, Ellie's here!"

"Dad's here? Chuck what's going _on?_"

He winced. "I guess it's about time we read you in. We're going to need you and Devon to take Lisa."

"For how long? Chuck? What the hell are you saying?"

"We've got a mission. Sarah and I... we probably aren't coming back."

"Chuck, no. You can't!"

He shook his head. "Ellie, if we don't people are going to die."

She got that muley look on her face. "How many? 10? 50? A hundred? You're throwing your lives away for these people, I should at least be able to tell your daughter how many people it was worth you abandoning her for."

"Seven," Chuck said after a moment.

"Damn it, Chuck!" Ellie was about to wind up into full on tirade, but Chuck spoke over her.

"Seven _percent,_ Ellie. Worldwide. Dad's probably a better bet to explain it all. But to make a long story short. The bad guys are going to use a compromised NASA satellite to overwrite the personality profiles of the world population."

She scoffed. "That's ridiculous!"

Chuck considered for a moment, and then nodded. The flash came quickly to his searching mind, and he was off and running. He planted a foot on the coffee table and vaulted up into the wall; Chuck ran two steps along the wall over the fireplace and kicked off into a spinning somersault to land right back where he'd started. Ellie's jaw dropped open.

Chuck tapped the side of his head. "Dad first developed the technology to upload data into the human brain in the mid-eighties."

It took her several seconds to pick her jaw back up off the floor. "What? You've got... flippy stuff in your brain?"

"Kevin too," Chuck shrugged. "That's the real reason CIA wanted me; not everybody can handle the stress of having data uploaded into their heads. Our current best estimates are that when Volkoff sends out his signal, somewhere around seven percent of the TV viewing population will die outright of neural shock. Another four percent will wind up in persistent vegetative states."

"Then call the authorities! Don't you work for the CIA?"

"We've been trying. But Sarah is wanted for questioning in the death of a CIA Deputy Director, and I'm wanted for treason. It's a whole thing."

"And Casey isn't answering his cell, and we're running out of time," Kevin said, checking his watch. "The signal goes out with the morning news shows in three and a half hours. We'll keep trying, but I'm not going to sit around here while the world ends."

"How do you know all this," Devon said. "You know to the minute when he's going to do whatever?"

"Mom sent us a message," Chuck said.

"_Mom_'s alive?!"

"Jesus, dad, you couldn't hold off telling her she was dead for another couple weeks?"

"Sorry, Chuck. You were right, she needed to know," Stephen shrugged; he'd crept into the living room without anyone noticing. "I'm done downstairs. Where's Sarah?"

"I'm changing Lisa!" her voice carried from down the hall. "We'll be right in."

"So, mom's _not_ dead?" Ellie demanded.

"It's a long story, and we don't have time for twenty questions," Kevin said.

Chuck shook his head. "No, she deserves to know. Tell her. It's your story to tell."

Stephen nodded. "Chuck told you about the Intersect?"

"That's how you uploaded the tumbling routine into his head?"

"That was CIA did that, actually. I haven't worked for them since I had to leave you and Chuck. The first test subject was one of my colleagues. We wanted to use the Intersect to level the playing field. Cheap, almost instant college degrees for everyone. Want to be a doctor? Boom. You're a doctor; or at least, you've got the training. Rocket scientist? Boom. CIA wanted military or espionage applications. Hartley wouldn't let them test it on anyone else. So, we put a cover personality in his brain. There were safeguards in place, so he could snap out of it and come home. But when he received the trigger word he never came in. I rigged up a way to remove the data, the cover personality. Mary volunteered to go and under cover and bring him back. But of course, the upload hadn't taken properly. We aren't sure exactly what happened, or what went wrong. He recognized her somehow, even though those memories of her should have been suppressed. Hartley and the Volkoff personality had merged. There's no bringing him back. I knew that much from Mary's 'death'.

What we didn't know until just a little while ago is that he took the data I'd given her to undo the upload and reverse engineered it, co-opted my work to his own ends. And then used it on your mother. She was in a coma for six months, and when she came out of it, she was his loyal retainer. It took almost eighteen years after that before she recovered enough of her old self to start working against him."

Sarah came in then, bouncing Lisa on her hip. "It was seeing this one that really knocked her over the edge," she said, a sad smile on her face. "But by then, the plan was all but complete. She's going to try to kill him herself. But there's no guarantee that even if she succeeds it'll stop the broadcast. Even if we get through to someone in the next few minutes they might not have anyone in position to take down Volkoff's satellite uplink in time. Much later than that and they'll miss the timetable entirely."

Stephen nodded and held up a CD-ROM in a jewel case. "I'll need you and Devon to take a copy of this directly to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade. You're to put it in the hand of General Diane Beckman, and no other. Tell them Orion sent you."

"Ellie, can we talk?" Sarah said. Ellie nodded, dazed from the new wealth of data, and they adjourned to the kitchen.

Kevin turned to the rather large ex-Spetznaz trooper who'd basically fallen into their lap. "Well, Comrade? You in?"

"Da. So long as I can bring friends," she went into her duffelbag and hauled out a pair of assault rifles, one with a grenade launcher mounted under the barrel. Nasty held one in either hand and made a show of introductions. "Everyone, meet Dmitriy and Vladimir. Vlad, Dmitriy: everyone."

"Oh my good lord. She's the girlie Russian version of John Casey," Chuck said.

Nastasha arched an eyebrow. "Is good thing?"

"In this instance?" Kevin said. "Very."

* * *

><p>"What is it?" Ellie said. "What didn't you want to talk about in front of the others?"<br>Sarah shook her head. "God, am I that transparent? To think I used to pride myself on my poker-face. I just wanted to go over Lisa's schedule. She's going to be pretty bad the next few days, and if you're going to get any sleep you need to get her back onto her routine. Breakfast should be at eight, eight thirty or so, then..."

"Sarah, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just— oh god, just take her," Sarah bit off a sob and shoved Lisa into Ellie's arms, retreating down the hall and disappearing into the bathroom.

* * *

><p>"Hey Morg, you alright?" Chuck said. "You've been awful quiet through all this."<p>

"Uh, yeah. I wasn't expecting world in peril type stuff, dude."

"Me neither. This isn't really in my wheelhouse. Okay, sure there was a nuke scare a few years ago. But mostly it's like arms dealers and spy rings and stuff."

Morgan shook his head. "You're really not coming back from this one are you?"

"We might," Chuck said after a long pause. "But the odds aren't great. Volkoff's been testing his process on homeless people. He's got at least a couple companies of troops combat ready. Heavy weapons. Anti-air defenses. If we can get through to the General, and she can get us some air support assets maybe we pull this off. But the odds of everybody making it home aren't going to be good any way you slice it."

"Dude," Morgan said. "No offense, but for the first time since you met Sarah, I'm glad I'm not you."

"Thanks, I think."

Ellie poked her head into the living room. "Chuck. Um... I think Sarah's having a meltdown. She locked herself in the bathroom."

Chuck spotted Lisa in her aunt's arms. "Okay. I think I know what this is. I'm kind of in shock myself or I'd be having one of those too."

* * *

><p>Devon eyed his brother. "You're wounded."<p>

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"I need to take a look, make sure you're not getting an infection," Devon said. Kevin shook his head.

"I'll go to the hospital if I live through the next four hours," he said, but he took Devon aside briefly, produced a pistol and held it grip uppermost to his brother. Devon backed away, holding up his hands like he was being mugged. "Hey, bro, I haven't used one of these since granddad taught me in junior high," he said.

"There's a firing range down in the batcave," Kevin said. "It'll come back to you. No TV, under any circumstances. Radio should be safe." He produced a cell phone and passed it over as well. "If we—if any of us make it through this, Chuck, Sarah or I should be able to call you before noon."

"The _batcave_?"

"What can I say, you picked a wicked family to marry into, bro."

* * *

><p>"Sarah?" Chuck knocked on the door. "You okay? Let me in."<p>

After a long moment, the latch clicked and the door opened a crack. Chuck squeezed through. Sarah was sitting on the edge of the tub with her head in her hands, tears making tracks down her cheeks.

Chuck knelt and took up the hem of his shirt to wipe the tears away. Sarah made a half-hearted protesting noise. "You're going to get your shirt all gunked up."

Chuck grinned. "You have time to put on mascara in this kind of a crisis? Tears will wash off fine."

"God, don't try to make me laugh, Chuck," Sarah said. "This is hardly the time."  
>"Oh, contraire mon... girl frere?" Chuck said. "This is the perfect time. If it's laugh or cry I pick laugh every time."<p>

"Don't Buffy quote me either."

Chuck grinned. "How did you know that?"

"You claimed _I_ quoted Buffy a while back. I checked it. And _you_ were wrong. It was 'That 70s Show.' And you're still a doofus," she said. Tears were still seeping down her face. "Lisa's going to be an orphan."

"Both of us don't have to go," Chuck said. "If—"

"I don't think either of us could live with ourselves having to tell our daughter mommy and daddy could have stopped world war 3 and chickened out. Ellie and Devon will raise her right. At this point there's nothing else we can do."  
>"Will one person give or take make any difference, against what we'll be walking into? One of us could stay behind. Nasty can take their place."<p>

Sarah swallowed. "But what if that one person _would _have made a difference? And don't try to get fancy with your 'one of us' and 'their'. I know you're angling for me to stay behind."

"I was just—" Chuck's voice broke. He'd been fighting back tears of his own, and finally lost the battle.

"I know," she said sadly. Sarah wiped the tear from his cheek and kissed him softly. "And Chuck? If we somehow manage to live through this? No more CIA. If we have to run off and disappear forever. No more."

Chuck nodded. "Okay. Let's get you cleaned up and..." she put a finger to his lips.

"Why bother? I doubt this goodbye is going to be easy," Chuck tucked a stray blond lock behind her ear, and leaned in to kiss her. Lisa's ear-splitting wail went up right on cue.

They came into the kitchen and Sarah reclaimed her daughter, if only briefly, to calm her down. Kevin tapped his watch.

"We need to be moving right now," he said and Sarah glared at him, but she knew he was right.

Ellie came out onto the front porch with them, and Sarah stalled for time, trying to eke out as much tiem with Lisa as she could. Chuck wasn't doing much better. It was like Lisa's tears were contagious.

Ellie and Sarah were openly weeping while Chuck, Devon, Kevin, Stephen and Morgan all tried to pretend manfully that they had something in their eyes. Nastasha even got a little misty, and she hardly knew anyone except Morgan. Finally, Sarah managed to quiet Lisa down, and then pry her hands free of her daughter, and Ellie took the baby. Chuck wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they stared helplessly out the car window at the daughter they were leaving behind.

There was a feeling of trepidation even among the other members of the impromptu team heading off to the mission as they piled into Orion's station wagon. Sarah used the sleeve of Chuck's BDU to wipe away the last of her tears.

"So," Nastasha said as they pulled away. "What exactly is plan? There is plan, yes? Plan is good?"

Kevin nodded. "We go borrow a traffic copter from the local TV news station."

"Borrow?"

"Borrow in this case meaning borrow at gunpoint."

"Ah. Make sense now."

* * *

><p><strong>KTLA<strong>

**News Headquarters**

**0345**

**2 hrs 48 minutes to upload**

Someone was knocking at the door. Frank the security guard grunted and rolled his shoulders and hauled himself out of his chair. Sometimes the anchor showed up super early like this, so it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. He yawned and headed over to the door. Usually they were supposed to come to the security door over by the side, but Frank knew they were mostly just stuffed suits who were pretty and could read teleprompters. They were also, as a rule, very self-centered and often ignored security procedure. Frank himself was guilty of similar problems; he should have checked the security cameras before he left his post to answer the door. If he had, he might have noticed the people hiding in the bushes. Then again, he might not have. The only one actually at the door was the one person on the team who didn't have special forces training.

"Hey, I locked myself out of my car," the man said.

Frank didn't even think about it before he unlocked the door. "What were you doing out at this time of night anyway?"

"Trying to save the world," he said, and jammed the stun-gun right into Frank's neck.

He had a pair of zip-ties in his back pocket, and secured the guard's wrists as quick as he could. He held the door open and hissed. "We're clear, come on," Stephen waved to the others.

"Nice work, Mr. B," Kevin said. "Very smooth. Almost like you've done this before."

"Well, I may not have fancy Delta Force training or a combat-skills Intersect upload," he said. "But I've been around the block a time or two."

Chuck and Kevin grabbed the guard and hoisted him between them, carrying him back to the security desk and stuffing him out of sight while Orion patched his wrist computer into the security system. Sarah and Nastasha began unloading their body armor and weaponry from the pair of duffelbags. It was an odd assortment of weapons, and they didn't have enough ammo for some of them. Chuck's P90 only had two spare magazines, though that was a hundred rounds. Sarah had the .45 caliber smg Kevin had appropriated from the ambush back in detroit, with plenty of spares doubled up end to end. Kevin had his trusty MK-21 sniper rifle, which left Orion with Chuck's KSG-12.

Nastasha was the most heavily armed of the bunch, her pair of assault rifles actually turned out to be a standard AK, and a drum-fed semi-automatic 12-gauge shotgun with a 40mm grenade launcher attached. In case the Hotchkiss rifled slugs she'd shared out with Steven weren't enough. In moments, the team went from nondescript black clothing to a heavily armed and armored strike force. They were no longer trying the 'low-key' approach.

Nastasha shot out the lock into the news room and kicked the door in. "Take us to the helipad," Chuck said and nudged the smoking barrel of her shotgun aside until it wasn't actually pointing at anyone. They didn't want any accidents. "Please."

Of course, pandemonium broke out, and Orion had to use his wrist comp to cut the power to the building so noone could try to go live with the story of the KTLA hostage situation. Finally they got the staff herded into and barricaded inside the break room and the station manager led the way out back to where the traffic copter was waiting.

It's pilot had just finished fueling up and was going through his pre-flight checklist when Kevin walked up and beckoned with the tip of his sniper rifle's suppressor for the man to step out of the cockpit.

"Sorry about the inconvenience," Chuck shouted over the rotor wash as Kevin and Orion revved the engines.

The station manager and the pilot just stared at each other for the longest time, until the chopper was just a dot in the sky, before they snapped out of the surreality of the moment. Then they ran back inside, to get the story of their harrowing brush with would-be-terrorists.

* * *

><p><strong>Helicopter over the California Desert<strong>

**1 hr 42 minutes to upload**

Chuck finally had to bright idea to go straight to the top. The public number listed for the White House.

"This is the White House, how may I direct your call?"

"I need to speak to the President's National Security Advisor."

"I'm sorry, could you speak up. I'm getting some weird interference."

"That's not interference, it's the rotor noise on my stolen helicopter," Chuck explained, raising his voice but trying to keep his tone civil. "I've tried her cell phone and her office but I can't get through. I'm hoping she's there. It's well, obviously, it's a matter of national security."

"Who may I say is calling? If I can track her down."

"Well, that's where we're going to hit the rocks," Chuck said. "And this has been the most pleasant conversation I've had on the phone in days. My name is Charles Bartowski, I'm with CIA. Although technically right now, I think I'm a rogue agent wanted for treason, but that's really all just a misunderstanding and if I could just talk to general Beckman we could get this all sorted out and—"

"Sir, you're babbling. Do you have an Alpha Priority code?"

"My wife does. I think. Hang on," he held the phone to his chest briefly to consult with Sarah, before getting back on the phone and parroting back the sequence of numbers and letters she'd given him.

"What should I say is this in regard to?"

"Project Flypaper, and the end of the world as we know it."

"Please hold."

"So I'm just—" Chuck sighed. "I'm on hold," he explained to Sarah.

"Well, that's progress at least." Before, when they'd been stationary, they couldn't afford to let themselves be put on hold; a digital cell trace would have got to them back at Orion's house. Now that they were using Orion's satphone, and were on the move, if somebody did trace them, it would just take them straight to Volkoff. Which was kind of the point anyway at this juncture.

A new voice came on the phone then, and Chuck frowned in confusion for a moment, but then his eyebrows came up. He hadn't been expecting to hear one of the more famous phone greetings in the world:

"Please hold for the President."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: This chapter is still moving pieces into place for the big showdown, and addressing some of the implications of Volkoff's plan.

* * *

><p>Chapter 30: War Within a Breath<p>

**White House Situation Room**

**Emergency Meeting of the Joint Chiefs**

**1 hr 36 minutes to broadcast**

"Mr. President," his executive secretary (actually he had several, she was the senior-most and had served four presidents) said, poking her head in. "There's a man on the phone for General Beckman. I figured I'd better break in. Says his name is Charles Bartowski."

Beckman groaned and cradled her head in her hands.

"Diane? What's going on?" The president arched an eyebrow. "Isn't that the guy you were saying had gone off the reservation? The whole point of this meeting?"

"Yes, Mr. President," Beckman said miserably.

"Put him through," the president pointed at the speakerphone in the middle of the table.

Chuck hunched around the phone. "You're on with the President."

"Mr. Bartowski, this is a surprise," the president said.

"Sir—ah, is General Beckman there? I'm not sure what you know, or who else is there or what I'm allowed to say, from a secrecy standpoint. And I'm on a rapidly shrinking timetable here."

"You're on with the President, myself and the Joint Chiefs, Chuck," Beckman said. "I just finished reading them in on the general nature of Project Flypaper. What's the situation with the data you stole?"

"Oh, that? I destroyed the files as soon as I got Sarah back. I was never going to hand them over, I just needed Volkoff to know I had them. But that's all out the window now. We know what Volkoff's endgame is and it's... a whopper."

"Mr. Bartowski, would you please get to the point?" Beckman said.

"Remember that NASA satellite Volkoff was messing with, and we never figured out why? Now we know. He's going to use it to piggyback an Intersect upload sequence onto the satellite television broadcast streams."

"What does that actually mean, Mr. Bartowski?" the president asked. "What sequence?"

"You'll find the technical details on how it all works in time sealed files at Langley, but according to agent Frost, he plans to use it to overwrite the personalities of everyone who happens to be watching television this morning. Turn them into soldiers loyal to Volkoff."

"And you're saying that's actually possible... Who is this Frost?"  
>"Frost is the codename of one of Volkoff's top lieutenants, Mr. President," Beckman said. "Chuck, did you capture Frost? How do we know this information is accurate?"<p>

"Because now we know Frost's real name, General: Mary Elizabeth Bartowski, my mother. We don't have time for me to get into the nitty-gritty. Volkoff's base is at the following coordinates. I suggest, Mr. President that you authorize a nuclear strike on the site using an ICBM. In the time frame before the upload goes out, that's the only 100% sure means of sanitizing the situation."

"Now hold on," the president said. "I'm not authorizing a nuclear strike on American soil on your say-so, Mr. Bartowski. We're trying to _avoid_ an international incident, aren't we?"

"I understand that, sir. But the situation is dire. If we don't stop this upload, people who watch satellite television world wide will be effected. Think about that for a minute. Half the world's leaders are addicted to 24 hour cable news. I don't know what the timing is going to be, but what if the Premier of India or Pakistan watches CNN in the evenings? Those are nuclear armed states themselves. If Volkoff turns them into puppet regimes, even if we manage to quarantine our own military...and somehow reverse the effects on our own populace, at best it's a new cold war with a nuclear armed enemy distributed the world over. At worst, it's all out world war III."

There was silence for several seconds. Chuck had shocked the entire Joint Chiefs into silence.

"There has to be another way."

"That's why we're in a helicopter heading toward those coordinates I just gave you, Mr. President. If you don't nuke him we _will _attempt to go in on the ground and stop the upload. But allow me to state this for the record, agent Frost is at the coordinates I just gave you. And that recommendation comes directly _from _her. The problem is one of timing. It's taken us forever to get through to somebody in charge. The broadcast will be taking place as soon as the satellite has clear line of sight to the ground station, which will take place in roughly ninety minutes. At which point, about eighty-nine percent of the people who watch the morning news will be thoroughly under Volkoff's command. The other eleven percent will either be comatose or dead."

There won't be total saturation. I don't have a morning TV ratings spreadsheet in front of me, but I know it's gonna be bad. We're currently en route to the site ourselves. If you could get the NRO to take a look at the place, we could use all the intel we can get on the location. We should make it there well within the time limit, but our intelligence indicates that the site is heavily defended."

"Who is we?"

"Myself, my wife, my father, Lieutenant Woodcomb formerly of Delta Force, and the Assistant manager of the Burbank Buy More."

"What!"

"If it helps, she says she used to be Spetznaz, and she's got the hardware to back it up. If there's anything you can do to clear the way for us, it'd increase our chances of success."

"Billy?"

"On it, Mr. President," said the Air Force Chief of staff.

"That time frame is gonna be a bear," said CINC-STRIKE, the man responsible for nuclear strategy, and who, under the two-man rule, would be called upon to validate a Presidential launch order. "I think Mr. Bartowski may have a point about nuking the place, sir. Flight time on an ICBM from inside the US to another target inside the US would be less then ten minutes. We should keep the option on the table in case Mr. Bartowski and his team fail. Barring that, we might be able to take out the satellite itself, but re-targeting the missile and programming it for detonation in low earth orbit might put us outside the deadline."

"That second one may not be feasible anyway," another voice said. "The satellite is currently over Russian airspace, and the EMP from a nuclear detonation that high would probably knock out a city. We don't want to have to explain this mess to the Russians, do we?"

"Okay, ideas people. Go."

"We could shut down the TV networks. Or at the very least, preempt all programming, tell people to turn off their TVs until we fix this."

"And start a nationwide panic? What do we tell them? Not the truth!"

"Blame it on sunspots, that's worked before!"

"I've got something," someone said.

"Who is that?" Chuck said. "I'm sorry, I don't know all of you well enough..."

"I'm chief of staff of the air force. I've got a flight of A-10s out of Edwards on a training mission. They've already shot their loads of training missiles, but they've still got full loads of shells for their 30mm gatling guns, and those aren't training rounds. We almost always load them with the standard API, to get the balance right on the trim. We've got a refueling bird in the area for them too, and they can be there well inside the time limit with the ability to loiter and suppress any ground forces. Mr. Bartowski, what's your ETA to the site?"

"Hang on. Dad, Kevin, give me an ETA, and make it good."

"We'll be coming up on their anti-air defenses in just over an hour. Call it sixty six minutes When would your A-10s get there?"

"A few minutes before you, if we cut the orders in time. They could tie up the anti-air defenses and let you slip through onto the base. And it looks like we can get you a flight of F-22s for air superiority a couple minutes before that. Won't do you much of any good against ground targets though. They're loaded for air-to-air and if we bring them in to re-load, they won't get there in time."

"What does the NRO have on the site defenses," the president asked. "I'm not ordering fighters into a meat grinder without at least letting them know what they're up against."

"It'll be another few minutes before we have a bird in position," Beckman said. "If you wait to give the orders then, we'll mess up the timing."

"Well, my mom claims the air-defenses aren't all that modern. PATRIOT Block-I, and some Russian anti-air tracks from the mid-eighties. I don't know if that helps any?"

Beckman made an unhappy sound in the back of her throat. "Even first generation PATRIOT will make short work of civilian aircraft. Chuck, what kind of helicopter are you in? Do you have any countermeasures?"

"Uh, negative. I don't know the model. It's the KTLA traffic copter. We, uh... we borrowed it."

"Oh, dear Lord give me strength," Beckman said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Speaking of strength," Chuck said. "General, where's Colonel Casey? We could use his input on this at the least."

"He's on a plane to LA with the team that's tasked to bring you in," Beckman said and paused thoughtfully. "He actually should be in a fairly interesting position, hang on. I might be able to get him turned around and headed your way, Chuck. If you'll excuse me, Mr. President. Neal, get me through to Colonel Casey right goddamn now—" her voice cut off with the sound of a door closing.

"Son of a bitch," somebody said.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Uh, who's that, now?"

"General Amos, Commandant of the Marine Corps. I've been looking at the maps. Your coordinates are awfully close to Twenty Nine Palms. Might be where Volkoff plans to strike first. I don't know if we have anybody on alert, but... let me get back to you. I think I may be able to scramble some men for a strike force. I can't guarantee they'll make it in time, and they'll probably be light on heavy weapons."

"Any help is better than none. Where exactly is that base, sir?" Chuck said. "I never heard of it."

"About a hundred miles out of Barstow."

"Well, if they're only a few minutes late to the party..." Chuck said. "And if those A-10s can punch us a hole, I might have something that can buy us time til the cavalry shows up."

"Can you do it, Mr. Bartowski?"

A moment while Chuck thought it out. His voice wasn't exactly ringing with confidence, but he didn't sound uncertain. "Yes sir. We can."

The president breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Anything else we can do to help, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Well, uhm. There's this whole 'treason' situation I'd be grateful to get figured out so my wife and I don't have to distract ourselves figuring out how to go on the lam after all this?"

"You live through this there'll be a pardon waiting for you at the other end. You have my word."

"Thank you, Mr. President. That's a load off my mind."

* * *

><p>Somebody kicked his boot where he had propped up his feet. The impact knocked his feet loose and for a moment, he flinched involuntarily, thinking he was falling. Casey came away and spotted Jarod looking at him expectantly. He grunted and put a question mark on the end.<p>

Jarod mimed holding a phone to his ear. "They need you up front."

Casey nodded and began extricating himself from the seatbelt. He nodded for Jarod to follow him forward into the communications suite. The comm tech was a grizzled Warrant Officer, who passed the colonel a radio headset and a salute that wasn't quite as crisp as Casey would have preferred. He didn't bother mentioning it at the moment. "Colonel Casey," he said.

"It's me," he recognized General Beckman's voice, of course, but she sometimes took secrecy too seriously. "We've got a situation." She elaborated for a moment. The General also had a talent for understatement that wouldn't be matched for decades at least. Maybe centuries.

"I'll get back to you once I have an ETA," He said and tossed the headset back to the Warrant Officer. "Jarod, break out the parachutes and tell the team we're on."

Casey went further forward to the cockpit door and rapped sharply. "Open up, Captain."

"What's wrong, Colonel?"

"Everything. There's going to be gunplay and I might miss it. Turn this bucket of bolts around," he reeled off the coordinates Beckman had gotten from the moron.

"Uh, that's outside of our safety zone, Colonel. We'll be almost out of fuel unless we reduce speed."

"Reduce speed nothing! Floor it. I don't want to be late to the gun battle, Captain. I don't care if we get there running on fumes," Casey said. He reconsidered after a moment. "Actually, when we get there after you drop us off. I want you to drive this thing straight through the biggest satellite dish you can find."

"Are you... ordering me to kamikaze?"

"Of course not. We've got a spare chute around here somewhere for you. You, copilot. You're jumping with the rest of the team. Every one we can get with two legs and a gun is coming with me on this one."

* * *

><p>Alexei Volkoff leaned forward and thumbed the intercom switch. His office here at the secondary location wasn't as luxurious as his old one at the Nakamichi building, but it couldn't be helped. "Phyllis? Is my son here from the helipad yet?"<p>

"He's running a little late, Mr. Volkoff. I'll just buzz him in when he arrives?"  
>"That's fine."<p>

"Is that a gun?" his secretary said. She kept her thumb on the intercom switch to give him a moment to react, but it wasn't nearly enough. His sidearm was in the desk drawer to his right. The first shot came just as Phyllis spoke her last words. The two men standing post at his door rushed out and another pair of gunshots echoed in the high-ceiling-ed office, before Frost burst in, gun at the ready. Volkoff made the move for his gun, and Frost ripped off two more shots in quick succession sending up splinters from the expensive mahogany.

"Don't move!" She shouted.

He slumped back in his chair, slowly putting his hands up. "Are you going to shoot me, Mary? What are you waiting for?"

She stood barely thirty feet away, gun held steady in her right hand. At that distance, he doubted she would miss.

The barrel seemed to vibrate for a moment, and he could see the frustration building.

"Sir, are you alright?" The response time of the reaction squad down the corridor was just as fast as he expected.

"Father!"

"Stand down. I'm alright!"

Alex Jr., and a pair of troopers with assault weapons appeared behind her in the doorway, staring at the tableau.

Volkoff rubbed his chin in thought. "You can't do it, can you?"

"Shut the hell up!"

He eased his chair back and stood. The barrel of her pistol tracked him easily, automatically, but that wasn't the thing that had tipped him off. Frost favored the two-handed Weaver stance. Why would she only be using one hand... "What is that in your other hand," he squinted, and then nodded. "Of course. Ingenious."

"What is going on?" Alex Jr. said.

"The controls are slipping. After all this time, I should hardly be surprised. I suppose I should be thankful. Now I have a benchmark. We'll need to repeat the upload in twenty years. Make a note, my son."

"Another step and I'll kill you," she said.

"I hardly think so. Drop the gun. At once, please."

Her hand shook, but finally the weapon fell free to clatter on the floor. "You see, some things yet remain. She could not kill me outright," he wasn't speaking to her so much as around her. "So, our good friend Frost devised an ingenious method. First, shoot down anyone between her and my door. Then wait."

"I don't understand."

"Don't let go of the detonator, whatever you do," he said. Volkoff walked forward and stripped off the heavy overcoat Frost was wearing to reveal the vest laden with a dozen long blocks of C4 she wore underneath. "Really quite clever. She waits for you and the others to come in and shoot her down. Then of course, she drops the oh-so-aptly-named 'dead man's switch.' The explosion kills me, and she never had to pull the trigger herself. Isn't that right?"

"I had hopes I'd be able to put a bullet through your black heart," she said.

Alexei smiled thinly. "Yes, I'm sure you did. Now. Tell me why? What could have happened recently to spur this kind of an outburst, hmm?"

She shrugged. "I'm not telling you a damn thing."

"I'll ask again later, then," Volkoff said. "Take her to the test chamber and see that she gets the new upload. Hopefully we won't have a repeat of the first time. I'd hate to have to wait six months for the answer." he made a brief shooing motion. "Off you go, then. Alex, send someone to clear up the mess, would you?"

* * *

><p><strong>Forty-two miles from Secondary Location<strong>

**Treetop Height**

**40 minutes to upload**

Chuck looked over the timeline for the ops plan on his wrist comp. What there was of it. Talon Flight, consisting of four F-22s was slated to get there first, roughly twenty-two minutes before the upload could begin. But they had only minimal air-to-ground capability; Talon Flight had been assigned to watch the west coast against incursion, and that had been expected to come by air, if it came. So they had to stay back from the Patriot batteries and self-propelled 23mm anti-aircraft cannon. The specifications Mary had given suggested Volkoff only had the first generation PATRIOT system, with a range of roughly forty miles. The brass figured fifty miles would keep the fighters out of range of physical threat from the ground defenses. At their standard supercruise speed of nearly a thousand miles per hour, that was about three minutes flight time for the Raptors. But Volkoff's radar would still pick them up at that range; the element of surprise would be fairly well lost by the time the four A-10s of Razorback Flight came on station. Hopefully by coming in low enough, hugging the earth, they could skirt under the radar coverage and shred the defenses with the seven-barreled GAU-8 rotary cannon each A-10 held in its nose.

Team Bartowski's borrowed traffic helicopter would arrive next, and maybe Casey and his team would get there and parachute in to help before the deadline came and Volkoff made his upload. A squadron of F-15E strike eagles scrambling out of Edwards was the next scheduled arrival, equipped with enough air-to-mud ordinance to level the entire facility. The only problem with that was that they would only arrive on station five minutes after the upload was finished, even screaming in on afterburners. Another ten minutes behind them would be the first elements of the Marine division staging out of 29 Pines. All in all, it was actually a little surprising just how quickly the military had managed to assemble and hurl all that striking power at Volkoff's secret base.

His father cursing over the helicopter interphones brought him out of his contemplation. "What's wrong?"

The answer came over the guard frequency even before Chuck was finished voicing the question. "This is US army Apache to unidentified civilian craft, you are entering restricted airspace. Turn back now or you will be fired upon."

Chuck flicked the window he'd been working in on his wrist-comp aside, and brought up the maps his father had given him. They were nowhere near any officially restricted areas. That was Volkoff's chopper. No plan survives first contact with the enemy.

"Crap, what do we do?" Chuck said.

"Relax, boys and girls," Stephen said from his copilot chair. "Papa Bartowski's got this one. Unidentified Apache. You are not, repeat, not a United States Army aircraft. The assertion that you are is tantamount in time or war to espionage. The penalty for that, universally acknowledged, is death. I order _you _to turn away, or be destroyed. You have five seconds to comply."

The attack chopper opened fire with its 20mm autocannon, missing handily. "Warning shot," Stephen said calmly, and then continued over the guard frequency. "Bad idea, kid."

The lone Apache banked and increased power, turning away and trying to dive for the deck, infra-red flares and chaff clogging the air in its wake.

"What the hell?" Chuck said.

Then they saw the contrail swoop down from above them and blot the Apache from the sky.

"Who the hell was that?" Sarah said, craning her neck trying to peer out the side window.

Stephen snorted. "I _did_ warn him." After a moment he sensed that everyone was staring at him. "What? Did everybody just _forget _I stole that predator drone a couple years back?"

"I actually did not know this in first place," Nastasha said mildly, raising her hand.

Kevin nodded and pointed at her in agreement, eyebrows raised shaking his head. "Me neither."

Stephen grinned crookedly over his shoulder. "My bad."

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: So, things are rapidly coming to a boil here. Next chapter will be the most action-y chapter I think I've ever put to paper. Thanks for all the reviews, please keep them coming.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: So... this is gonna get kind of explodey in here. In case you were wondering.

Chapter 31: For Whom the Bell Tolls

**38 minutes to upload**

"Was that an explosion?" Talon 3 said. "Three o'clock low maybe ten miles. I saw something."

"Hang on," Talon lead said, selecting the proper frequency. "Talon lead for control. We just saw an explosion in the vicinity where the ground force is supposed to be, could somebody check to make sure they're still with us? Be a shame to hold a party with the guest of honor not showing up."

"Roger that Talon lead, we're still working on getting a secure radio-lashup so you can talk directly, be some lag time."

* * *

><p>Chuck's sat-phone vibrated in his hand; the noise of the helicopter's rotor and engines was too much to hear a ring-tone over, and he didn't want to risk missing the telltale vibration with the turbulence they'd encountered after his dad shot down Volkoff's first apache.<p>

"Bartowski," he said.

"Okay, you're still alive," Beckman said. "Somebody pass that along to Talon Flight. We should have a secure link to your air support on this line before too much longer."

"I think that's a bad idea, the sat-phone's about the size of a brick. If I go running around the secret base with the thing to my head, I'll just turn myself into a bullet magnet. I've got a voice-over-IP client downloading onto my wrist-comp; give me a number or IP to call in on and I'll keep that line open. Ten seconds left on the download."

"You're surfing the internet while on a helicopter heading into combat?" Beckman demanded.

"No!" Chuck said defensively. "Well, it's not like you're making it sound. My dad and I are trying to hack into Volkoff's network, but he's got more firewalls than Langley. So I'm multi-tasking."

"You found his network?"

"I came across the IP when I went in after Sarah; now's the first chance I've had to try anything."

"Okay, Chuck, I'm hearing back from Talon flight, they say they're going to try and play tag with the air defenses."

"That doesn't sound very smart. I'm done installing my VOIP software, I'm gonna need that IP you were going to give me?"

* * *

><p>First generation PATRIOT missiles were only really good enough to take down the aircraft of the time when the air defense system had been pioneered. In the early eighties it had been top of the line tech, and someone coming in to play tag with PATRIOT in an early F-14 would have been in trouble. The four F-22 Raptors of Talon flight were something else entirely. The F-22 wasn't as stealthy as the F-117 Nighthawk, but it was at lot stealthier than the Russian MiGs this particular system had been tasked with shooting down during its active duty service life. There were eight batteries total, ringing Volkoff's secret base, with individual mobile radar tracking vehicles.<p>

They picked up Talon Flight almost immediately when they came kicked burner and accelerated into the effective range of the system, before Talon Flight received the same warning Team Bartowski had got from the Apache driver. Turn back or be fired upon. Talon Leader merely grinned and chopped back a terse, "Go ahead, make my day," as the four F-22's bored into the PATRIOT envelope. The southern four batteries all fired a pair of missiles once the incoming fighters were within twenty-five miles. That was only two missiles to target each plane, but it didn't quite work out that way. The F-22s were closing at a little over Mach 2, while the PATRIOT missiles topped out at Mach 3. At a closing speed in excess of thirty-eight hundred miles per hour, the missiles only had a flight time of about twenty seconds. Which was plenty of reaction time for the Raptors. As the missiles began their terminal guidance phase, Talon Leader keyed his radio. "Now boys," the four plane flight split into a pair of two-plane elements and flicked off the transponders that had been augmenting the radar return targets they gave the ground-based radar. A split second later, they began deploying flares and Jammers. Two of the missiles lost their targets and went wild when Talon flight switched off their transponders. Three more went after the flares and detonated, the shockwaves buffeting the pilots.

The last three all went after Talon 4. The F-22's thrust vectoring let him put his fighter through maneuvers that would have torn one of the MiGs this particular brand of PATRIOT missile had been designed to shoot down in half. And it was almost enough. Two more missiles detonated short, but the last one managed to catch Talon 4's tail in the cone of hypervelocity shrapnel created by the detonation of it's high explosive payload.

"Talon 4 is hit," the pilot said, in a voice that barely betrayed any emotion. "Right side flaps are out. Rudder's awful sluggish, but I think I can put her down somewhere as long as— shit!"

None of the other pilots in Talon flight had to ask what had caused the interjection. They were in range of every last one of Volkoff's PATRIOTs now. And all of them had begun belching anti-aircraft missiles. Already damaged, Talon 4 had almost no chance to evade any further missiles.

"Well, Razorback," Talon Lead said over the encrypted channel. "Your job just got easier. They probably won't have time to get fresh launch cells into place before you guys get here. We're breaking off now."

Chuck's makeshift linkup to their air-support went online as the second, larger salvo of missiles went out, and he heard the combination of pride and grim humor in Talon Lead's voice. "Good luck, Talon Flight," Chuck said.

"This is Razorback lead, who the hell is that on this channel?"

"Charles Bartowski, we're the ground force. Civilian helicopter coming in from the south. We've got predator support. Come in from the south, Razorback. I'll see if we can't take out some of the ZSU-23s."

"Don't waste a missile on a Zeus," Razorback lead replied. "See if you can't take down one of those PATRIOT batteries. If they manage to reload before we get there _those_ are what'll ruin our whole week. Let us worry about the Zeuses."

"The what?" Chuck said.

"ZSU-23 is a mouthful," he said. "Okay, I've got visual on you; we're coming up on your six now."

"Chuck, head's up," Stephen said from the front seat. "I'm handing over the predator to you. You've got the link to where the A-10 guys want us to hit with it. And I've got a chopper to land in a few minutes."

"Hang on to something," Kevin said. "This is gonna be close."

The four A-10s ripped by the KTLA traffic copter so close that their jetwash nearly stalled the chopper. Stephen and Sarah struggled briefly with the controls and got them back pointed the right way after a frantic handful of seconds. By then, the bulky fighter aircraft were more than a quarter mile past them and extending their lead, burning in at their top speed at roughly three-hundred fifty miles per hour.

In the screen of his wrist-comp, Chuck could see vehicles scrambling over to the south-side PATRIOT batteries, new cells of 4 missiles each being winched up to replace the case that had held the missiles already launched. It looked to be a fairly intricate process, but the men had a well-drilled efficiency and they might manage it before the A-10s covered the remaining thirty miles or so. It would only take a handful of minutes; he wasn't sure exactly how far away they were and Chuck didn't want to do the math in his head right at the moment anyway. He watched the picture from the TV camera mounted on the predator drone.

People were going to die if he fired this missile. He'd come face to face with the prospect of killing before, and always before there had been a way out. Or Sarah had swooped in like an avenging angel and taken care of it. Or Casey. It was a moment that would be forever etched in his mind. The point of no return. Those people were working to help volkoff start what would effectively be world war III. But they had no choice; Volkoff had overwritten their brains and remade them in his own image. Chuck centered the predator's targeting reticule and hesitated. The number came into his head then. Seven percent. What was seven percent of LA? If everyone was watching? 900,000, give or take? He rebelled at the thought. And then he tapped the launch sequence. The nightmare scenario was real. He'd been ready to kill before, had thought he'd actually done it a time or two before. Why hadn't his father just launched the missiles himself, like he'd blotted the attack helicopter out of the sky a couple minutes ago.

He watched through the camera in the nose of the predator missile. And he knew Stephen had done it on purpose. To force him to think about it, make his peace with it, before they hit the ground. And had to fight their way through upwards of two hundred armed men. It was the most cold blooded thing he'd ever seen his father do. Even though there hadn't been much in the way of remorse when his father had killed the nameless apache driver.

Chuck blinked. That wasn't fair. Sarah had killed more people than his father had, he was sure. But she'd always tried to protect him from killing, where his father had just shoved a predator missile strike into his hands. The PATRIOT battery bloomed white in the wrist-comp display, and Chuck snapped out of it. He slewed the predator's targetting camera around and found the next PATRIOT battery. Launched a missile at it. Found another battery and fired the last missile. "Okay, that's it. We're out of missiles up here," Chuck said on the VOIP/radio link to Razorback flight. "I took out the southern-most batteries, and the one up on the ridge to the east. Should have a clear shot at the mobile gun platforms, Razorback."

"Appreciate the assist," came the terse reply. "Another minute or two before we're in range."

For Razorback lead it was a long minute; they were still a few miles out, but any second one of those remaining PATRIOT batteries might spot them. The A-10 had a rather smaller IR signature than you'd expect. It had a pair of heavy turbo-fan jet engines, but the vertical stabilizers outboard of the engines were big enough and heavy enough to block a lot of the heat from man portable SAMs, Stinger missiles and the like, that used heatseeking missiles. PATRIOT was a radar seeker. And the A-10 had never been intended to be a stealthy aircraft. That's why they were flying low, smoking in at well under the manufacturer's recommended minimum safe altitude, hoping to get lost in the radar's ground-return clutter. The ZSU-23s and the remaining PATRIOT crews had to be seeing something soon.

But on the bright side, unlike almost any other aircraft in service, the A-10 carried better than half a ton of armor plating. The engines and the flight controls, and a fair amount of the fuselage under the cockpit were all armored. They were supposed to be able to handle anything up to 23mm or so. Technically, the 23mm soviet era autocannons on the ZSU-23 self-propelled anti-aircraft vehicles were on that list. But it was a sketchy kind of a guarantee; one he'd hoped not to put to the test under quite these circumstances. The A-10's standard combat load held a lot of things that would outrange the gun on a ZSU-23. But Razorback flight had been on a training mission. They'd only had dummy ordinance to start with, except for their own guns. "Ground, you still got eyes, up? Can we get a rough count on how many Zeus platforms they got down there?"

"A lot," the reply came back faster than Razorback lead had hoped for. "Maybe twenty or thirty? They're kind of in a ragged line coming west, and this is the first time I'm running a drone myself."

Razorback lead let out a low whistle, but didn't key his microphone. Each one of those twenty-to-thirty had not one 23mm cannon, but 4, mounted in two double mounts. That was maybe a hundred and twenty individual cannons all about to open up on Razorback flight as soon as their own radar spotted the inbound fighters.

"West? Not south to meet us? You sure about that?"

"Yes; why? Does that mean they haven't spotted us yet?"

* * *

><p>"We've got one of them, but the rest of them are turning back, sir."<p>

Volkoff punched the headrest of the radar operator's chair in triumph. "Yes! Okay, now what are they? I thought F-16s at first. Want to come in with HARM and take down our air defenses. But they were well within range for that and just turned away." Something was fishy. HARM was short for High speed Anti-Radiation Missile; it was an old technology, but still in use. Because it was effective as hell. A ground based radar installation that was going to do any good put out hundreds of thousands, if not millions of watts worth of RF energy. There was no hiding that kind of output. HARM just homed on the biggest RF emitter within range and blazed in as fast as it could. And a ground-based radar installation of any decent size was hard pressed to get up and get out of the way. A missile didn't have to do a whole lot of terminal guidance to hit something the size of a barn. The PATRIOT batteries had their own smaller radar elements, which could pack up and drive away. But breaking them down was a minutes long process. The only way to avoid an F-16 equipped with HARM was to turn off the radar entirely. Which would just about do the job the fighters were after anyway: to shut down his air defense radar.

Volkoff had been morbidly awaiting just such a flight of missiles ever since those fighters had bored into his PATRIOT envelope. But it never came. Instead they'd just buzzed around like gnats and lit off their jammers and got him to fire off his missiles at them. Surprisingly good jammers, they'd only managed the one shoot-down so far. But the missile batteries were about finished with their reloading cycle, which took almost a full seven minutes... "Yob tvoyu mat. They're a diversion. Raise the apache. He should have got eyes on a ground force if it's out there."

The communcations tech spoke into his microphone urgently. And then turned to look at Volkoff, horror in his eyes at having failed. "There's no answer."

"What! How long has he been out of contact?"

"I-I..."

"How long!"

"Ten, fifteen minutes. Maybe a little longer. I didn't think anything of it. There was a civilian helicopter near the perimeter you claimed for our airspace. He reported he was going to wave them off. Then we spotted the fighters coming in. You told us to concentrate on that."

Volkoff pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. His Intersect experiments weren't perfect. They lacked initiative in many cases. Not all, of course. Frost was usually dependable to think for herself, though that was not without its own drawbacks. And it was his own fault. He had given that order. He _had _shifted their priorities. It was like telling someone not to disturb you unless the enemy was at the gates and then being surprised when they burst in frantic, telling you the enemy was at the gates. It was probably as much his fault as anyone's. And there was no use getting upset about it. Spilled milk and all that.

"Well, where is this civilian helicopter now? Is it still on your scopes?"

"The fighters had much better jammers than we expected. It was lost in the hash they made of my screens. But— oh no! More fighters! Inbound, barely two miles out, from the south. But low and slow. Not even four hundred knots."

* * *

><p>Two miles wasn't all that far, even at a measly three-hundred fifty miles per hour. The A-10s had jamming pods of their own, which they turned on as soon as their threat recievers declared that they had been definitively spotted themselves. "Alright, Razorbacks, form up on me. Stack up and open fire as you hit a mile to the targets. Keep your bursts short. There's a lot of these assholes."<p>

Unlike most combat aircraft, missiles and rockets weren't intended to be the A-10's primary armament. Fully loaded, the main gun of an A-10 weighs nearly two tons. The plane was designed so completely around this weapons system that when one is removed for maintenance, the plane has to be tied down at the nose or it will tip over backwards. The GAU-8 Avenger rotary cannon has a recoil force of 10,000 foot-pounds, roughly 45 kilo newtons; this is actually more than the thrust of one of the A-10's engines. Luckily, the A-10 is equipped with two engines, and the recoil force doesn't slow the plane down by more than a handful of miles per hour. Razorback lead opened things off for the A-10 flight, blazing away with a one second burst and peeling off to clear the way for his wingman. The GAU-8 fires at a blistering 3900 rounds per minute. Razorback lead's single brief pull of the trigger on his flight stick sent better than sixty rounds downrange with a sound that was like nothing else so much as some unthinkably huge bolt of cloth being ripped apart. Each of those sixty rounds was better than an inch in diameter. They were a 3-to-1 mix of armor piercing incendiary and high explosive incendiary. The armor piercing rounds weighed almost a full pound, while the HEI were a little lighter, tipping the scales at only 12.7 ounces, though nearly half of that was high explosive. The API rounds used depleted uranium for their penetrators. Each of the 60 rounds fired left the muzzle at around a thousand meters per second. By the time Razorback lead was letting go of the trigger, the first in the stream of 60 projectiles was falling just short of the target and kicking up concrete dust in its impact.

The A-10s were flying so low that the tiny downward cant of their weapons-systems was enough to mess up their targeting. A little. Of the 60 rounds Razorback lead sent downrange on his first past, seven fell short of the target area. The other fifty three fell into a circle roughly fifty feet wide, which just so happened to contain a pair of ZSU-23s. They received word of the A-10s from the more powerful stationary radar station almost four full seconds before Razorback lead pulled the trigger.

The crew chiefs barely had time to bark orders to turn and face their attackers before they began to die.

The ZSU-23 looks like a little, boxy tank; it has a tank-like tread, but it doesn't have the thick, nicely sloped armor that helps deflect and defeat incoming rounds. Instead, it has about 15mm thickness of armor and a turret holding four 23mm auto-cannons. And about two-thousand rounds total for the four guns, and fifty gallons of diesel fuel.

It was a combination that made for what was known as a 'catastrophic kill' when met with even a handful of the 30mm shells from an A-10's main gun. Both of Razorback lead's targets took fifteen or so; the rest were near misses. Anyone standing around inside that 50 ft circle would have been peppered with fragments from the 'misses' and killed. That's before the pair of ZSU-23's blew apart in nearly identical, brief fireballs.

Razorback 2 followed right behind the flight leader, and squeezed off his own one second burst, shredding the next three ZSU-23s. Razorback 3 took out another pair. Razorback 4 ignored the order to keep his bursts short and buzzed the entire rest of the line, holding down the trigger until his gun overheated after nearly 700 rounds. He pulled up at the last second to avoid debris flying from the line of shredded and exploding anti-aircraft vehicles.

"The hell was that supposed to be, Razorback 4?"

"Buck fever sir. Won't happen again; my gun's out of commission."

"Peel off, you're no good to us without that gun."

"Sorry, lead."

The first pass from Razorback flight killed nineteen out of the twenty four ZSU-23s. Seventy six men died in what looked like a single running explosion a hundred fifty yards long. Of course, they really shouldn't have been lined up nice and neat like that.

That was the last part of the battle that could be described as neat. A huge curtain of smoke and burning wreckage closed off the southwestern edges of the base, and the A-10s split up. Razorback 4 peeled off west trying to disengage. But the last few ZSU's in the line had had a few more seconds to think than their compatriots. And instead of turning their guns south in a futile attempt to shoot back as the A-10s apprached, they began turning _north, _to shoot at them after they passed overhead. They hadn't quite finished the move by the time Razorback flight finished overflying the line of light armored vehicles. Razorback 4's banking maneuver west flew him right into their field of fire. The five remaining anti-aircraft tracks had 20 guns all told, and blazed away with everything they had. They couldn't fire as fast as the rotary cannons slung under the A-10s, but they still put out a fearful rain of steel. The A-10 is probably the most rugged close air support platform in service, but even it has its limits. And it certainly doesn't take well to nearly three hundred 23mm high explosive rounds fired almost directly up its engine exhaust.

The big turbo-fan engines were shredded from the inside out and Razorback 4 lost power, and he was still flying low. There was no time to correct, and though the A-10's huge wingspan made it a better glider than a lot of more modern craft. Razorback 4 had barely a second to react. He didn't quite reach the ejection handles in time. One of his wingtips hit a rock outcropping and the plane cartwheeled up and over into a horror-show of twisting metal and flying debris, finally tumbling to a stop two hundred yards from its initial impact point.

"Ground team is three minutes behind us. Split up. Prioritize PATRIOT batteries, and don't get killed, Razorbacks."

* * *

><p>"How long til the satellite is in range?" Volkoff said, with more calm than he felt.<p>

"Thirty two minutes, sir."

"Very well. Send out the rest of the mechanized unit."

"Sir, what about the fighters?"

"We're under thirty feet of concrete here. They can do us little harm."

"The men, though. Without the missile batteries they'll be defenseless. They've only light armored vehicles. The cannon on those A-10s have already shredded the ready squadron of anti-air tracks."

"There are more where they came from. Still, your point is well taken. Give it a few minutes. They can't have the ammunition for more than half a minute sustained fire. Once the A-10s disengage, begin sending out patrols with the Stingers to localize and destroy the ground force before they land."

**28 Minutes to Upload**

"Ground force, this is Razorback lead. We're about Winchester."

"Winchester?" Chuck frowned. "What's that?"

"Out of bullets," he explained. "Razorback 2 and 3 are RTB. I've still got a couple hundred rounds. I'll stick around until my cannon's dry, but that won't be long at all, ground. Four bursts max!"

"Okay, we're only about a minute out," Chuck said. "We should be safe from here." Chuck watched the Predator feed, scoping out the layout of the base as they came up on the last couple miles. He cross-loaded the data to a wire-frame diagram he could manipulate easier, and nodded Kevin over. Kevin peered over Chuck's shoulder.

"We're coming in from the south, here," Chuck said. "We'll hit the perimeter just west of the the main road near this wrecked PATRIOT battery. There's a lot of open space between the big hangars except for this little building. Then off at the western edge, the command center is probably somewhere in this huge L-shaped office building thingie to the east."

"That open space is a problem," Kevin said. "I'm guessing it used to be Officer's country when this place was a military base. They probably left up the base commander's house, maybe Volkoff's using it as his home away from home or something. Anyway, that whole area's gotta be full of old overgrown concrete slabs from houses. You don't have a street map or something for that do you? Not a lot of cover if we're on foot. And if we manage to get a vehicle or two, we could get bogged down."

"Maybe we can go back to the raw feed and that'll help?"

"No time, we just came over that PATRIOT battery of yours," Kevin said. "Mr. B, you got a landing site for us yet?"

"Parking lot, coming up. Hang on." The chopper lurched and nosed up dramatically, as Stephen and Sarah used the rotorwash to dump velocity.

Kevin peered out the left side window and cursed. "Missile launch! Stinger at nine o'clock!"

Chuck keyed the link to their air support. "Missile launch!"

"This is Talon lead. Relax, Mr. Bartowski, I got it."

"What?"

The F-22 came barreling up behind them seemingly out of nowhere, afterburners flaming behind its engines, passing between Team Bartowski's chopper and the inbound missile at better than mach 2.

"Why isn't he using flares?"

Kevin cursed again. "Stinger is infra-red guidance. He's pulling it off us onto him. The engines on that thing with the burners on are about a 10 times bigger IR target than we are." The missile veered visibly. He leaned over Chuck and grabbed the microphone. "Talon lead, it's working! Eject! Eject now!"

Instead of following Kevin's suggestion, Talon lead hauled back on the stick and put himself into an almost vertical climb. The stinger was still accelerating, but he figured he had at least another second or so to gain altitude. He reached over his head and pulled the ejection handles and his entire flight chair burst free of the raptor. The canopy shot clear when the explosive bolts went and the ejection charges powered him out of the cockpit, g-forces crushing him down in his chair momentarily. Then the chute opened up and caught the air and he was jerked back the other way. The roar of the ejection charges was still in his ears when the stinger caught up to his free-flying aircraft and exploded right behind the starboard engine. The raptor came apart, but its upward trajectory sprayed debris over a huge area.

"We got a good chute," Kevin said. "Looks like the wind is taking him over by the hangars though."

"Heads up!" Steven said as he pitched the chopper back level and brought it in to land. "Humvees incoming."

"Bring us around! Bring us around!" Kevin shouted. "Chuck, get the door and get down. Nasty, take the drivers."

"Da!"

The chopper swiveled in mid-air, hovering only a few yards above the concrete. Chuck kicked the door open and bent down in a hurry. Kevin used Chuck's back as a gunrest and stuck his eye to the thermal scope on his rifle. There were a pair of humvees a couple hundred yards away. The first humvee bloomed white against the dark background and Kevin took the shot at the first gunner. The round was subsonic, and the report of Kevin's suppressed rifle was lost in the engine noise. The downdraft from the rotor fouled up Kevin's aim. Instead of taking the gunner in the head, it spanged off the blast shield. His follow up shot a half second later killed the gunner and Kevin shifted aim, looking for the second humvee.

Nastasha fired a fraction of a second later than kevin, squeezing of a pair of rounds from her shotgun. Two hundred yards was about the upper range for effective fire from the 12-gauge, even with rifled slugs. Each of Nastasha's rounds was nearly a full ounce of lead punching through the heavy windshield and the driver's body armor before expanding inside the man behind the wheel. The first would have killed him instantly. They took down the second humvee just as the second gunner opened fire. The first few rounds from the heavy mounted machine gun screamed in high, punching through the light metal siding over the choppers engines.

They lurched downward and Stephen and Sarah wrestled the helicopter down the last few feet into a bumpy landing. Every body piled out as the engines smoked and stalled. The rotorwash was already diminishing as the rotor slowed.

"Get under cover, more vehicles inbound," Razorback lead said in Chuck's ear. Chuck passed the word and the gang ran toward the disabled vehicles. Another two seconds later, a half-dozen humvees were shredded. "Alright, I've done what I can. You're on your own from here in."

"We'd never have done this without you," Chuck said. "Thanks."

Kevin grabbed Chuck by the sleeve. "I want to go after Talon lead," he said. "They've got more men in reserve; you'll need a diversion. Give me all your C-4, maybe we'll see about taking down that dish ourselves while we're at it."

Chuck shrugged out of his pack and thrust it at Kevin. Stephen was already hauling the driver out of one of the humvees Team Bartowski had disabled. Sarah took up station on the mounted 50 cal.

"Don't shoot, maybe we can trick them into thinking we're still on their side!" Sarah shouted. Nastasha nodded before clambering into the back of the second humvee.

"Da."

"Godspeed!" Kevin shouted, and the team split up, burning rubber in their new vehicles in opposite directions. Kevin keyed his radio to the standard emergency frequency.

"Talon lead this is Lieutenant Woods, what's your 20?" "I'm on the ground near the southern-most hangar. Four humvees are heading off to where my chute landed. With what looks like a pair of LAVs lagging behind a little."

"Crap," Kevin didn't bother transmitting that thought as the line of vehicles loomed up out of the smoke in the predawn gloom. "Okay, we're passing them now." Kevin's skin crawled for the brief moments when their stolen humvee was under the heavy guns mounted on the light armored vehicles, and he breathed a sigh of relief when no one seemed to notice the pair of three-quarter inch holes in the windshield from Nastasha's shotgun slugs. "What's the opposition like inside that hangar?"

"Minimal, I think. I'm trying to keep a low profile at the moment. The rest must have been in the northern hangar. I can see more activity around that one."

"Alright, we're heading your way now. Keep your head down."

"That you in the humvee heading my way?"

"Twenty seconds, Talon lead. Stay down." Kevin turned and made his way for the open hangar doors.

"Okay, Nasty. Once we're in the hangar, anything in the front arc is open season. "Da. Is time for rocking and rolling, yes?"

"Something like that," Kevin said. He hit the brakes and swerved to a stop sideways in the thirty foot opening of the hangar doors. Nastasha opened up with the 50 cal, shaking the humvee with its recoil. Kevin slipped out of the car and scanned the interior of the warehouse. There was an office area with table and chairs off to one side, but Nastasha was already raking it with machinegun fire. He turned back to the entrance.

"Talon lead. Come on," he shouted. A man poked his head around the door and Kevin waved him in. "What have you got in the way of weapons," Kevin shouted.

"Sidearm is it," the man brandished a standard M9 and Kevin grimaced.

"Nasty, gimme your AK," he said. The deafening fire from the 50 cal died off, and she kicked the door open, tossing the rifle out to him. Kevin turned and handed it to Talon lead. Welcome to the infantry, Captain."

Nastasha sent another burst of half inch machine gun fire through the hangar. "I think that's all of them."

Kevin nodded. "Okay, keep the machine gun trained on the door; they'll figure that was us going by them pretty soon. And then we're gonna have problems..." he trailed off as his inspection of the remaining vehicles found something he hadn't been expecting.

Talon lead's jaw dropped. "Is that what I think it is..."

"Da. Is T-90. Russian main battle tank."

"You know how to drive one of those things?" Talon lead said.

Kevin's eyelids flickered as the flash passed through him, and he grinned crookedly. "If she doesn't, _I _do," he said.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

><p>AN: Man this chapter was tough to get down. But it's amazing how much technical data you can get off Wikipedia, isn't it? I'd like to take this moment to thank everybody for their continued reviews to this story. The feedback is and will continue to be greatly appreciated.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: So, this is the finale. This update actually contains two chapters and the epilogue. I apologize for the length of time it took for me to get this out to you, but I felt that the cliffhanger would be too traumatic if I didn't have the next one ready to go right then and there.

* * *

><p>Chapter 32: The Final Countdown<p>

17 Minutes to upload

"Is it just me, or is this too easy?" Chuck said.

"It's just you," Sarah said. "If we hadn't got the airforce to shoot up two-dozen odd armored vehicles, we'd be so much Swiss cheese by now. Just because we haven't run into site security just means Kevin and Nastasha's diversion idea is working out. It'll get much dicier once we're inside the admin building."

"About that. What could they possibly have done to give us a complete clear run at this?"

* * *

><p>16 Minutes to upload<p>

"They stole my tank?" Alexei said, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing on the big monitor. "They stole my tank! My tank! I was going to drive that tank through downtown LA on my victory march." He turned, rage threatening to overwhelm him and took a deep breath instead of giving vent to his anger. Volkoff counted to five under his breath. "Alright. How many mechanized units do we have left now that those zhopa A-10s have buggered off."

"Half a dozen ZSU-23s-"

"Are not even going to scratch the paint on a T-90. Next? Do we have any other heavy armor on-site?"

"Aside from the 90, we've got maybe a dozen T-72s in various states of disrepair. But only crews for maybe half that. We bought them off collapsing regimes in the mideast over the last couple years."

"They'll slow them down at least... Frost, how much did you tell the CIA?"

"Everything, sir." She stood calmly to one side, hands clasped behind her. There was no hint of the animosity she'd shown before. Thankfully the re-upload hadn't had any adverse effects.

"Then they must be making for the antenna farm. Hangar two is in an interesting place. Have the 72s come across and cut them off here," Volkoff tapped the monitor. "Meanwhile, dismount the zsu crews and equip them with the TOW missiles and Laws rockets we've got lying around. Leave the drivers in their vehicles and send them out as mobile cover for the missile crews. Get them moving."

* * *

><p>14 minutes to upload<p>

"Okay," Chuck said. "You told me so."

"Shhh!" Sarah hissed. "Someone's coming. Can you get the door open or what? Between the two of you I'd have thought-"

"Got it," Stephen said just as the door hissed open. They had managed to disable every security camera they'd spotted so far, and the electronic locks the base sported weren't too great a challenge for Chuck or his dad. But there were more armed guards than they had expected. It was a miracle they had gotten as far as they had. But that luck was finally running out. On the other side of the door were a pair of men in black tactical gear, assault rifles slung across their bodies in appropriately military bearing.

"The hell-" one of them started to say before Sarah but a bullet through his throat. The second man had just enough reaction time to move his weapon halfway to a ready position before the second round roaring from Sarah's smg cut him down. He could barely hear the bodies thump to the floor past the throbbing echoes of the double tap in his traumatized eardrums. He swallowed bile; it had been a while since he'd seen Sarah in full avenging valkyrie mode. Especially up close like that and, as always, it was a little jarring. A week ago they'd been on the floor of their house playing jingle the keys at baby and now-

"Move, now!" Sarah hissed. "Somebody had to hear that. We need to find Volkoff soon. Any luck on a building schematic, either of you?"

"No, but the main control center's got to be below ground. They build them in bunkers for good reason."

"Sub-basement access, up ahead," Chuck said, pointing.

Sarah's head cocked to one side and she waved Chuck and Stephen down the hallway ahead of her, dropping to one knee and covering their backtrail. Chuck flinched at another mechanistic roar from behind him as Sarah ripped off a pair of three round bursts. "Pick up the pace, boys," she shouted. "There went the element of surprise."

* * *

><p>12 Minutes to upload<p>

"Crap," Kevin said softly to himself. "Crap, crap, crappity crap!"

"What's wrong?"

Kevin tapped a button and switched the aux feed over to the main display. "The rear FLIR shows armored vehicles behind us. Looks like more Zeus tracks, and some foot mobiles."

"Yeah, but they're behind us..." the air force Captain said. "Can't we outrun them?"

"You ever try to outrun a missile? Bad question, I know you have. We happen to have our least armored side pointing in the direction of the people with- inbound! Brace for impact! And hope they bought the deluxe model!"

The tank lurched and rang like a bell. Talon lead patted himself down checking for injuries and Kevin snorted.

"What? I thought..."

"Volkoff sprang for all the addons. Including the anti-missile systems. Basically, it's a radar controlled claymore on the side of the tank. Missile comes in, boom."

"So we're okay?"

"Only got so many," Kevin said, and another missile hurtled out of the early morning grey behind them. "Crap, Nasty, we got to turn around and get some steel on those guys."

"Negative, comrade. Armor incoming front!"

"I see it. Traversing. Come on load," Kevin cursed some more under his breath. The american Abrams tank required a fourth crew member to serve as loader, where the T-90 had an automatic loading mechanism. It was a pretty efficient system. It was also just about a full second and a half slower than a human being doing the same job. That second and a half seemed to stretch forever, before the Russian fire control computer finally flashed ready. "Gotcha. On the way!" The main FLIR screen whited out momentarily as the tank rocked backward on its treads, shaking like a tree struck by a sledgehammer as the 120mm main gun launched a high explosive anti-tank shell at nearly half again the speed of a rifle bullet. Whatever armor Nasty had spotted, it wasn't up to the challenge. When the viewer cleared, the turret of what had once been a tank was flying through the air on a pillar of fire.

"Jesus!" Talon lead said hoarsely. There were other shapes visible on the infra-red scan, belching white heat as the other tanks tried to avenge their fallen brethren. The T-90 shook and rang from the impact of the shells. Alarm sirens went off but they were still alive, so the armor was holding. "How the hell aren't we dead?"

Kevin winced out of the flash. "Those are forty year old tanks, air force. Armor and tank gun tech have moved on a bit since the seventies. Still, fighting it out in the open's going to get us killed. Brace!"

The tank shook again, a near miss from one of the missiles from aft. "On the way!" Kevin fired another round from the big gun. Another tank erupted in flames. They were cut off. No way they could run straight through those tanks. And they were running out of time before that upload. The tank rang from more antiquated cannon-fire, but only two hits; another of the T-90s systems was in play, deploying IR masking smoke grenades that fooled the opposing tanks' computers. Eleven minutes and counting. Kevin's brain seemed to click, adrenaline lacing his thoughts with fire. They'd never survive trying to skirt around the main admin building to range on the antenna farm. "Nasty, ninety degrees hard right turn, now!"

"What are you talking about?" Talon lead shouted. They were all shouting to hear over ears ringing from the report of the tank guns and impacts.

"No time to go around," Kevin said, fingers flipping dials to change from anti-armor rounds to simple high explosive. "I'm gonna make us a door!"

* * *

><p>12 Minutes to Upload<p>

"What the hell do they think they're..." Volkoff trailed off as it sank in. "Zob tvoyu mat." The entire building shook, even in the undergound bunker.

"We got other problems, Pops!" Alex Jr. said from his computer console.

"Don't call me Pops, boy."

"Somebody's in our system. They're good. I think I only spotted them because that blast made them make a typo. Somebody's looping our cameras in subbasement 1 sector bravo. Christ, I've got gunfire!"

"What!" Volkoff rushed over. "Get me a visual."

"Working on it... got'em. It's the Bartons and some old guy."

"Some old guy," Volkoff shook his head and his eyes flickered with hate. "Barton, Bartowski, I should have seen it sooner. Why didn't you say something, Frost?"

"You asked me what I told them, not who they are." She shrugged as if it were unimportant.

Volkoff ground his teeth. "Take some men, Frost. And bring me Stephen Bartowski's head on a platter. Go!" He thought for a moment. "And Frost? Don't be so literal, it doesn't have to be on a platter. Any old plate will do."

* * *

><p>11 Minutes to upload<p>

Nasty was cursing creatively in Russian, and it was blue enough that Kevin was half wishing he hadn't gotten the Russian language flash along with the T-90 gunnery skills. But, some of it was fairly didn't have time to be letting that distract him, though. He cursed himself under his breath. "Nasty, bring us around 180, and back in. Put out front armor between us and those missiles!"

"Da, am trying!" Of course that was easier said than done. The wreckage from the heavy cinder-block exterior wall had washed into the building on the blast front from the tank shell and formed a layer of rubble. That wouldn't usually present any difficulty, but metal squealed unexpectedly. Damage from one of the missile strikes?

"Lost a tread!" Nasty said.

Kevin cursed and shouldered aside Talon lead. "Keep trying! Air force, get the turret turned around at least. You catch that much watching me?"

"Let's hope so," he said.

Kevin grunted, hefting the top hatch open and shimmying out. "The hell are you going?"

He hugged his rifle in tight and pressed his eye to the thermal scope. A second later, a bright shape appeared, and he fired a pair of suppressed rounds. Kevin quirked an eyebrow and rolled sideways off the T-90 turret. He had to scramble sideways over shattered cinder blocks and the ruins of what had once been office furniture as the tank lurched, its one good tread half-turning the massive bulk. Pre dawn gray was seeping in everywhere, but the hole blasted in the side of the main building was in shadow. Kevin had to squint, but he was sure- there. Another figure in the 'door', he flipped his rifle to line up the aimpoint sight he'd mounted to the siderail. Kevin's finger curled and he put another pair of rounds through the man.

He shuffled forward to keep his aim true and took cover at the edge of the breach, pressing aginst the wall. Kevin peeped around the edge and grimaced. "Awesome..." They were bunching up, thankfully, Zeus tracks which the missile armed infantry had been using as cover were the closest, which was obscuring the infantry's fields of fire. The tank was out of line of sight, for the moment, and only a couple brave souls had dared charge forward into the breach. That wouldn't last long.

Kevin ducked across the gap and grabbed for the first man's fallen launcher. If nothing else, he could turn those bunched ZSUs into a better roadblock with a return to sender TOW missile. He fired a couple quick bursts one handed, not caring where the rounds went so long as he made them keep their heads down. Thankfully the ZSU-23s didn't chop him into brisket with their 23mm flak cannons.

"Come on," Talon lead shouted from the turret, and Kevin staggered over under the stream of fire from the coaxial machinegun. He'd got the turret rotated, and Nasty seemed to have compensated for the lost track. It wasn't going to get them very much farther. Metal squealing against concrete floor and rubble alike told that story. He hooked an arm around the main cannon and held on for dear life.

The T-90 lurched further into the building, grinding old furniture and debris into choking clouds of dust. They made it around the corner into a corridor that wasn't quite wide enough, before wedging the tank in tight.

"Now what, army?"

Kevin shrugged. "As good a defensive position as we can hope for, hold'em here," he spotted a sign and hefted his borrowed missile launcher. "I'll try and get to the roof for a shot at that dish."

* * *

><p>10 Minutes to upload<p>

"Junior?"

"On my way," he said, pushing his chair back from the bank of computers. Upload's ready to go. Just hit enter when the timer hits zero, Pops."

"Don't call me pops."

He grinned. "Don't call me Junior," he nodded a pair of gunmen along in his wake.

* * *

><p>9 Minutes to Upload<p>

"Through here," Sarah said, and Chuck and Stephen ducked through the door as bullets spanged off the metal doorframe. Sarah growled and sprayed lead back down the corridor in response.

She popped back into cover and turned on Chuck. "Still too easy?"

Chuck stuck his P-90 around the doorjamb and let loose a long burst from the suppressed smg, firing blind. "Are you ever gonna let that go? You told me so, okay?"

Sarah managed a grin, despite the situation, reloading her UMP. They were bogging down, encountering more and more resistance. Stephen had shot a man almost off Chuck's back before they took cover in this side-room.

"Mmm, what have we here?" Stephen said with a grin.

"You say something dad, you've got to speak up!" Chuck said popping back into cover while Sarah started back up. He had to shout over the racket.

He didn't bother explaining, merely rooting through the room they'd sheltered in, which appeared to be a fully stocked armory, for the Semtex.

* * *

><p>9 Minutes to Upload<p>

Kevin poked his head over the railing and checked down. Some gunmen had got past Nasty and the airdale. That or they were on building security detail, but he'd have expected Chuck and Sarah to have drawn at least some attention to themselves. The building shook and he stumbled as he turned the corner, and found himself staring up the barrel of an m-4. There were two men above him on the stairs, weapons slung across their chests, looking just as shocked as he felt.

He shoved the missile launcher between him and the first gunman and tried to train his rifle on the second. But the jumble of limbs on the stairwell lashed out and knocked the weapon out of his hand, sending it clattering over the railing. The first gunman staggered back into the second with the launcher over balancing him. Kevin's left hand lashed out, 45 coming out of its holster and barking once. He shoved the dead weight of the first man again, keeping the second man off balance. But the man managed to aim over the falling man. Kevin had to reach out and grab the barrel of the second man's weapon and thrust it out of line with his free hand. The gunman got a long rippling burst out, chewing concrete chips out of a section of wall before Kevin shifted aim with his 45 and put him down as well.

And then he got buried under a combined four hundred pounds of dead gunmen, as the whole wretched tangle thudded down into the landing on top of him. "Awesome..." Kevin rolled his eyes from under the pile and started trying to free himself.

* * *

><p>8 Minutes to upload<p>

"Okay, is this going to work or not?"

"Only one way to find out," Stephen said.

"I hate it when he says that," Chuck said mournfully.

"Now you know how I felt every time you wouldn't stay in the car."

"I don't recall ever getting into the Semtex back in the old days," Chuck said.

"You blew up a nerd herder that time," She pointed out, ducking away from the doorway to dig a fresh magazine out of the ammo pouches sewn into the front of her vest.

"That wasn't- that's not a fair comparison and you know it."

Stephen rolled his eyes at them. "Fire in the hole!" he shouted, hitting the detonator on the improvised breaching charges he'd secured to the armory wall. Sarah and Chuck rushed over, and the three of them went through the huge hole in the wall, hoping to flank Volkoff's men who'd taken cover there.

Stephen's eyes widened and an armor piercing round lanced through his light body armor. "Mary?" he collapsed to the side amid the rubble, clutching the gunshot wound to his belly.

Frost stepped closer, centering her aim on Stephen's head and ignoring Chuck and Sarah entirely. Sarah grit her teeth, and prepared herself to shoot her mother-in-law. Chuck slapped Sarah's weapon out of line and shouted. "Mom, heads up!" Her head came around instinctively.

He let his smg fall on its sling and raised his left wrist, tapping the controls of his wrist comp as he did. The screen flared quickly, flickers of light filling the dust-choked room.

The other two gunmen who'd been with her collapsed unconscious. Frost fell to one knee and shook her head muzzily.

"Chuck? What's... oh god, Stephen!" Mary dropped her gun and darted forward, cradling her stricken husband and working the velcro on his vest so she could see the wound, between peppering kisses all over his face. Stephen tried only halfheartedly to fend her off. Some of that was the gunshot wound, though. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry Stevie!"

Chuck wrinkled his nose."Urk, 'stevie?' really?"

Sarah swatted him in the arm. "I think it's sweet," she said. Then they saw the blood.

"What the hell, Mom!"

"I had loaded with teflon rounds when I was going after Volkoff," She said. "Once he hit me with the re-upload, I never changed back to hollowpoints. I'm so sorry, honey."

"Sokay..." Stephen slurred. "You're back now. Our countermeasures work."

Sarah poked her head out into the hallway. Clear for now, but there'd be more along soon enough. "How bad is he wounded? Can you get him out of here?"

"The men will still take my orders. I can carry him if nothing else," Mary said.

"Good. Where's the command bunker?"

"You were on the right track; there's only a couple more guard posts before you're there. "Maybe I should go; you two take Stephen and get out."

"No," Chuck said. "You're not going alone."

"And Chuck's not going anywhere without me," Sarah said.

"I can make it," Stephen said. "We'll do it. Listen to your mother, Chuck. Get out while you can. This is my fight... I'm getting up. Hnn-" his entire body shuddered with agony. "okay, no I'm not," he said, having to pant between words.

"Get him as far as you can. There's a flight of F-15 strike eagles with bunker busters coming through in..." he checked his watch, "eight minutes." Sarah watched the corridor while Chuck went to hug his mother goodbye. "While we've got you here, though? Do you know the wifi password for this place? The encryption's been giving us fits."

Mary grinned. "Of course."

Chuck worked furiously at his wrist comp while Sarah led the way. She stopped and shoved him into cover, firing wildly. "Last mag," she said, loading again.

Chuck shrugged out of his P-90 sling and shoved it toward her. Sarah popped out of cover briefly, blazing away with both weapons on full auto. "You almost done there?"

"Give me one more minute?" he said, and thrust his last P-90 magazine at her. "Last one." Sarah ditched the UMP and reloaded Chuck's P-90.

"A minute might be pushing it, Sweetie."

"I'm coding as fast as I can," Chuck said. "This has to be done _right__. _It's the principle."

"You're hopeless," she said, spraying short bursts down the corridor. Even then, her 50 rounds were gone in a practical blink of an eye. "Chuck? Status?"

He grinned and flashed her a thumbs up. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief and tossed the P-90 around the corner. "We surrender! Don't shoot!" Then softer just for his ears. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"Eighty percent..."

She grinned. "I trust you."

* * *

><p>5 Minutes to upload<p>

Volkoff looked up and his eyes narrowed. "Mr. Bartowski, Ms. Walker, this is an unexpected pleasure. I'd have expected you to go down fighting."

"We ran out of bullets," Chuck shrugged.

"And it's Mrs. Bartowski."

He waved that away. "What of Frost? Did you kill her? That would be just perfect!"

Chuck glared icy death at him, and managed not to say anything.

"Ah, well. I'll have to watch the security tapes later. Speaking of which. Put the roof feed on the big screen. I want to watch when my boy kills your friend."

* * *

><p>4 Minutes to upload<p>

Kevin was panting when he finally clambered up onto the roof. It was nerves as much as anything, though he didn't remember how long it had been since he'd got any sleep. Probably the plane down from Detroit, but he didn't remember sleeping much more than a few minutes.

The detour he'd taken up the side of the building, when a grenade had collapsed the last two stories of his stairwell hadn't helped matters. In addition to wearing him down even further, it had cost him precious time rigging a sling for the launcher and smashing out the heavy duty safety glass on the sixth floor windows.

He took in the view briefly, cracking his back as he stretched, and checked his watch. Kevin had almost perfect sightlines to the antenna farm, less than a kilometer away. Easy range for a target that size with the missile tube he had access to. He wasn't in any hurry anymore. Three minutes forty-five seconds. The sunrise over the distant mountains in the east was breathtaking. Plenty of time to notice that fact and still knock out that satellite uplink before Volkoff got his upload out to overwrite everybody's brains. "Talk about television rotting your brains."

He'd never know what it was that warned him. Some betraying sound? A boot crunching on the gravel? A glint of reflection off a nearby air conditioning unit? Who knows, a smell? Kevin's hand went for his 45 without bothering to ask any other part of his nervous system, and he'd squeezed off two rounds before he even realized he was moving. He ducked and felt a bullet buzz over his shoulder almost as he heard the report. The duck turned into a stumble and he rolled around the edge of a bulky industrial sized air-conditioning unit. The thin sheet metal gonged with bullet impacts, and Kevin fetched up, spun to peek around cover and extended his hands as one. The 45 stung his palms, muzzle blasts etching spots in his vision. The slide locked back on an empty mag. He'd lost count somehow. Kevin ducked back into cover as another burst of fire lanced his way, punching into and through the air conditioner. One round punched him in the gut, but didn't penetrate the heavy ceramic trauma-plate over his vitals. The impact knocked him over, and Kevin log-rolled, reaching into his ammo pouch for a spare mag. Last one. How the _hell_had _that_happened? Bullets kicked up gravel and dust to his side as he rolled into new cover.

He fumbled getting the magazine out of his 45, and cursed under his breath. What the hell was wrong with him? Get it together, Woodcombe. The fate of the world is at stake, jerkwad! His breathing calmed, he slammed the full magazine home and thumbed the slide release. He came to one knee in a firing stance drilled into him until it was instinctual, leaned around his cover and rippled off two shots, then two more. There were three, two now. His second target had scrambled for cover. He grit his teeth and took up tension on the trigger as he brought the weapon down from recoil.

Then he rolled back behind cover and flat on his belly as more high power rounds whizzed by him, using some of Nastasha's creative Russian curse words as he low crawled, trying to flank around them. There was a sudden crunch of gravel ahead of him; somebody else had the same bright idea. He was looking up at them, his weapon out of alignment for a kill shot. Their weapon was still sweeping down at him. They must have expected him to be up on his knees ready to roll again. He probably should have been.

Kevin didn't waste the heartbeat it would have taken to shift aim. He simply shot the man in the ankle and rolled to his right. The gunman screamed and loosed a burst of automatic fire. Kevin double tapped him in the head. Crap. Only one left.

"How's your ammo situation, buddy?" a familiar voice called out.

"Danny?"

"Name's Alex, remember?"

"You'll always be Danny to me. Danny the dufus."

"Name-calling? You've fallen so far." Judging by the sound of his voice, Danny/Alex was about thirty feet away. But there were a fair number of obstacles on this roof. He needed to funnel the traitor into someplace with a clear sight-line. Keep him talking.

"Says the guy who never lived up to daddy's expectations," Kevin stayed low, trying to keep the jumble of equipment between him and Danny.

"Screw you!"

"Not for all the pizza in Italy," Kevin tossed back. Then he waited for a response. But none came. He cursed mentally. That should have gotten him something. Must have figured out broadcasting your location wasn't the greatest idea in a fight like this. The first one with a clear shot would win it all.

"I'm hurt!" Danny said, and Kevin saw movement. He centered the white pip of his front sight on the target and squeezed. The 45's slide locked back on an empty chamber. He was bullet hit an already dead man in the throat. Somehow Danny had managed to drag one of the dead guys without making any noise. No, he must have just backtracked to the body and done a dead lift. That would require both hands. It all went through his minds in an instant. Realization, reaction. Kevin threw his 45.

Danny shielded his face with both hands, knocking the clumsy projectile aside. The dead man Danny'd used as a shield fell to the gravel again. Kevin vaulted over his cover, long legs eating up the distance. Danny recovered and started to unsling his rifle. Kevin went with a straight kick as he closed, knocking the rifle clear over the edge of the roof. Danny spun aside, going for his sidearm, but Kevin was already there. He grabbed the traitor's gun hand with both of his, ducked under and twisted the arm out away from Danny's body and drove his knee into the wrist. The pistol tumbled free, and Kevin stepped around, kicking the weapon backward so that he was between it and Danny, purely out of reflex. The move had brought Kevin up behind Danny, and if he could just get a good grip he'd snap the bastard's neck like a chicken's.

Danny saw it coming and sat down, used the momentum to snap a kick up over his head into Kevin's face. Kevin staggered back a couple steps and clutched a hand to his split lip. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Fine. Intersect 1, Kevin 0. Time for round two.

By the time he'd recovered, Danny was approaching with a knife. Kevin reached for his own knife, and found only an empty scabbard. His eyes widened. Okay. Intersect 2.

He had to keep ducking back, dodging lunges. Kevin knew Danny was toying with him now, never extending far enough that there was really any danger he couldn't get away.

"Nothin' to say now, huh?"

Kevin grimaced and beckoned for him to come on. Sheer Bruce Lee. Danny went for it. Kevin grabbed for the knife hand, and managed not to get stabbed. Now it was all balance and footwork. And fighting for the knife. They scuffled in a circle, punching with their free hands. Kevin blocked with his shoulder and tried a knee. Danny turned into it, stealing the power from the blow.

Then Danny had a foot behind his heel somehow and he was going over backwards. He hit with Danny on top of him and tried to roll. Danny matched the move and came out on top, knife inches from Kevin's throat.

"Nothin' funny to say now?" The knife inched down. "Just so you know, I'm gonna pay Laura a visit too after this. She always was too uppity for her own good."

Kevin smirked in response and spat the mouthful of blood he'd sucked out of his split lip right into Danny's eyes. Danny cursed, clapping his hand up to scrub his eyes clear. Kevin shifted his grip on Danny's wrist and thrust his foot up into Danny's gut and flipped him up over his head. Danny rolled to his feet with his back to the edge, Kevin just a heartbeat slower.

But he'd taken his knife back. Kevin slammed the blade up under Danny's sternum as he drove himself up to his feet. Danny's eyes shot open in sudden pain and his hands came down to grip the blade.

"You talk too much," Kevin said, and punched Danny right off the edge of the roof.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and staggered over to where he'd dropped the missile launcher. Kevin checked his watch and grimaced. He got the launcher up on his shoulder and aimed. "Come on, come on," he whispered, the wait for a solid lock tone seeming to take forever. The antenna farm was warm enough a heat seeker should be able to find it. What was taking so damn long.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. His watch alarm went off, signalling that Volkoff's satellite was over the horizon. The door to the roof burst open behind him. He finally got his missile lock tone and hit the launch stud. A bullet ripped through the air inches from his head. Wait, they missed?

Kevin let the launcher drop and glanced over his shoulder. One dead gunman slumping in the doorway. One very shocked gunman behind him with his eyes wide. Then shocked became dead and slumping as well. This was a strange and confusing development. Kevin scanned around, cupping his hand to shade his eyes against the sunrise.

Then he saw the parachutes, the tiny cloud of smoke still dissipating behind the shooter. His missile was largely superfluous, as a small passenger jet screamed out of nowhere and plowed into the antenna farm a few seconds later. Kevin waved to the parachutists in muted shock.

Eventually the nearest one, the shooter, resolved into the familiar silhouette of Lieutenant Colonel John Casey.

As the Colonel flared his chute for a landing, Kevin shook his head. "You're late," he said.

"Just in the nick of time, from what I saw," Casey said. The next chute down was Jarod, who came over and gave Kevin a well-earned fist bump once he'd got clear of this canopy.

"Nicely done, man."

Kevin waved his watch. "Ten seconds late, unless Chuck and Sarah came through on the other end."

"Well don't keep me in suspense!"

"Right," Kevin shook his head. Should have thought of that himself. He was going shocky. "Right!" he thumbed his mic to transmit. "Chuck, Kevin, come in, gimme your status."

No answer.

"Chuck respond, damn it."

"Um, we got some way to warn off those F-15s? Cause, I don't want to be standing here when they start dropping bunker busters," Jarod said.

Kevin nodded mutely and passed him a smoke grenade.

* * *

><p>30 Seconds to upload<p>

Volkoff's eyes widened at the sudden reversal. He seemed to snap taut then shrink in upon himself as his son tumbled over the edge. "No!" That was all. A single shout, a single moment of rage unleashed, then he was back in control. The timer clicked inexorably closer to 0. "His sacrifice will be remembered," Volkoff said, as the counter reached zero and he tapped the upload button. The rage was suddenly gone, replaced by triumph as he smirked at Chuck and Sarah captive in the command bunker. Chuck closed his eyes briefly while intersect code flashed up on the bank of monitors and out across the country. For all of two seconds. Then it stopped. The gunmen watching the prisoners slumped to the ground, mostly unconscious. There was a brief flare of static before music began blaring from the speakers and a grainy video of a young man with a pompadour haircut danced across the world's television screens.

Volkoff turned slowly back to the screen as if in shock. "What in the world is this nonsense..."

**We****'****re ****no ****strangers ****to ****love**

**You ****know ****the ****rules ****and ****so ****do ****I**

**A ****full ****commitment****'****s ****what ****I****'****m ****thinking ****of**

**You ****wouldn****'****t ****get ****this ****from ****any ****other ****guy**

**I ****just ****wanna ****tell ****you ****how ****I****'****m ****feeling**

**Gotta ****make ****you ****understand**

Chuck exchanged a glance with his wife. She rolled her eyes. Volkoff rounded on Chuck, eyes blazing as the chorus hit. Chuck fought the grin with every scrap and fiber of his being.

**Never ****gonna ****give you ****up**

**Never ****gonna ****let ****you ****down**

**Never ****gonna ****run ****around ****and ****desert ****you**

**Never ****gonna ****make ****you ****cry****, **

**Never ****gonna ****say ****goodbye**

**Never ****gonna ****tell ****a ****lie ****and ****hurt ****you**

The grin was making headway in its campaign across his face now, but Chuck still struggled to keep a straight face. It was the principle of the thing. "I have no way of knowing for sure, you understand. But you appear to have been rickroll'd. Rather well. Of course, I personally have absolutely no idea how that could possibly have happened. But you might want to consider changing your wifi password." Then the wolf grin won the battle and stretched nearly from ear to ear. "Oh, and that little bit of intersect code at the beginning? That was me erasing all your goons' programming and then, you know how you used to be able to punch out the tabs on a VHS tape to avoid recording over your wedding video or whatever? Same basic concept. The worlds brains are now read-only. Boom. Game, set, match. Checkmate. Other assorted winning. Like That delta force team or whoever landing on the roof, with Colonel Casey leading," that with a finger pointing at the continuing feed from the roof. "Plus there's an F-15 wing... ninety seconds out, and half a battalion of very surly Recon marines a few minutes behind them. You'd probably better do yourself a favor and just surrender now."

"That's all fairly persuasive, I must say. Just one point you've overlooked."

"And that would be?"

The gunshot came as a surprise, fire lancing through Chuck's knee as his leg collapsed under him. He screamed and clutched at the ragged wound, blood leaking through his fingers. Volkoff turned the pistol on Sarah when she instinctively moved to go to him. "Ah, ah... not so fast. I have a gun and you don't, Mr. Bartowski, that was the point you overlooked. Though I'm sure you've realized by now. You've been a worthy opponent. I'll almost regret not having you to work against as I rebuild. And make no mistake, despite your efforts here today, I will escape. I will rebuild. And I will achieve my destiny. Goodbye Mr. Bartowski."

"No!" Sarah lunged and Volkoff's reflexes pulled the shot out of line with Chuck's head. She'd made herself the target, practically jumped in front of the bullet. Everything was a jumble, and Chuck couldn't understand it. Blood erupted from Sarah's chest and she collapsed on top of him. But her vest should have stopped- She turned in his arms, vest pulled half off for some reason. Dammit Sarah why would she- Then he saw it, a holster rigged underneath the protective vest, where a halfhearted search might just miss it. As it had been missed. The tiny little derringer in her hand, blood everywhere. She thrust it at him and her lips moved. "Too slow. I'm sorry."

Volkoff was slow following up the shot. He saw the blood and wanted to savor the moment, taunt Chuck some more maybe, but Sarah's bloody hand pressed the matte-black over-under .45 into his numb fingers. And Chuck's hands came together on the grip, sliding the pistol up around Sarah's back. The gun barked twice in his hands and lead smashed Volkoff just under the collar bone, then the second came just to the right of the bridge of his nose. The automatic in Volkoff's hand spat one last shot into the floor before it fell from his lifeless fingers and he collapsed bonelessly to the concrete.

"Oh, god. Sarah!" Chuck cradled her carefully, gun forgotten. Volkoff forgotten. "Please, hold on."

"I'm sorry..." she coughed blood.

"No, don't you give up on me!"

"I'm sorry we'll never get to meet this one..." her hand fell to her belly and her eyelids drooped.

"No! Sarah, hold on!"

TO BE CONCLUDED...

* * *

><p>AN: see what I meant about cliffhangers?

* * *

><p>Chapter 33: Hold On<p>

Chuck could feel himself going into shock. He was starting to hyperventilate and if he couldn't get himself under control Sarah was going to die. The whiplash emotions of the last few moments were making his efforts more difficult than ever before in his entire life.

There was blood puddling around him. His, Sarah's, there was no way to tell which was which. He fought down the urge to vomit and forced himself into action. First he needed to tend his own wound. It was the only way he'd have a clear enough head to try and save Sarah. If he lost too much blood from his own wounds, he might just kill her in the attempt to stabilize her wounds. Chuck unbuckled his belt and wrapped it around his leg above the knee, using his pocket maglite to tighten and secure a makeshift tourniquet.

That should keep him lucid enough to do something for Sarah, as long as the delay hadn't already killed her. He fought the urge to ralph again and felt for a pulse. Chuck breathed again when he found it, and tore the hole in Sarah's shirt wide to expose the wound. Air was hissing out of the gunshot wound. Lungshot, sucking chest wound. But the positioning wasn't right for a heart shot. If he could remember Ellie's lecture on the subject maybe.

"Idiot," he said, punching himself in the temple. "Flash, idiot!"

"What the hell's going on..." someone groaned behind him. One of Volfoff's former minions, recovering faster than the others..

Chuck craned his neck. Then pointed. "Bad guy brainwashed you, shot my wife. Get me a first aid kit, hurry!"

"Brainwashed? You're kidding!"

"Just get me that first aid kit, dammit! We don't have time for twenty frakking questions, alright?"

"Oh, jesus," the man said, finally spotting the blood pooling around them.

Chuck put the man out of his mind. "Come on, Sarah. Just hold on. The marines will be here any minute, and they'll fix you up good as new, you just got to hold on a little longer." He punched himself in the head again. "Come on _flash__, _you bastard." Finally the Intersect kicked into gear.

"Where's that first aid kit?" Chuck said when the images stopped flickering through his synapses.

"Here! Here, you know what you're doing?"

"Let's hope so," Chuck said. "There should be a rubber tube and a big needle in there somewhere, get them ready."

Chuck had to fight down another surge of nausea before he could set to work. Her lung was punctured and had deflated, air was coming in the gunshot wound and compressing her heart. He slapped a quick pressure bandage over the wound and checked for an exit. There wasn't one, which meant the bullet was still inside her somewhere. Even though Volkoff had stocked his first aid kits with full trauma gear, there was no way he could remove that bullet.

The air leaking into her chest cavity was only the first part of the problem though. Her lung was still deflated, and his fingers shook as he took the scalpel. Chuck made a tiny incision in her side and felt around carefully. He should have put on gloves, but there was no time. At least the Intersect skill upload let him know how to put in a chest-tube as if he'd done it a thousand times.

The tube went in, and suddenly her breathing was better. Not good, but better. He had no idea how much time had passed. Chuck checked her pulse and grimaced. Still weak. The bullet must have nicked something; she was bleeding internally. He needed more hands, trained hands. Even with the knowledge the Intersect gave him there was no way to go forward alone-

"Bartowski, you alive in here somewhere?"

"I need a medic!" he said. "Sarah's been shot."

Casey cursed softly and bellowed back down the corridor for "Corpsman forward! Hold the medevac chopper, we got more wounded."

Chuck collapsed to the cold concrete beside her and whispered. "Hold on."

The next few minutes were a blur. He had to fend off a marine corpsman who kept trying to mess around with his knee. That wasn't important. Sarah was important, they had to save Sarah.

"We've got three guys working on her!" Casey's face looming out of the haze. "Let us work on you, moron!"

"Your bedside manner could use some work..." Chuck mumbled. What was that sound? Helicopters? A needle went into his neck.

* * *

><p>When next Chuck was anywhere close to coherent, he was in a hospital gurney, his leg swathed in bandages where they had slit open his pants all the way up. "Sarah? Where's Sarah?"<p>

"She's in the OR," his mother answered. How odd that she'd be there. After all this time. "I don't know how bad it is. She crashed once on the chopper ride over, but they got her back."

Chuck felt his heart lurch. "Dad?"

"He's in surgery too," she said, "He should pull through. They say I somehow managed not to perforate his bowel when I shot him."

"You weren't yourself. Don't blame yourself..."

"It was still me behind the trigger, Charles."

"Everybody calls me Chuck."

"I'm your mother. I named you Charles. I'll call you Charles."

"Can I see her?"

"I don't know that's a good idea. They've got a viewing room, but-"

"I need to see."

She squeezed his hand. "I figured you'd say that," Chuck's mom pushed his gurney out into the hallway. "When you get up, don't put weight on the leg any more than you have to."

A man in scrubs frowned at them. "Where do you think you're taking my patient, ma'am?"

Mary produced her sidearm and waggled it vaguely, not pointing it in any threatening direction, just letting the doctor see it. At the doors into surgery, a security guard tried to stop them. Mary darted around Chuck's gurney and smashed him with a fist in the solar plexus, then karate chopped the back of his neck.

She helped Chuck gingerly out of the gurney as they approached the entrance to the viewing area. Chuck put all of his weight on his good leg, and hopped along at his mother's side. Scrubs clad doctors rushed past them with equipment on carts talking back and forth. Then, they heard someone call something ahead of them and slowed down. They lost all sense of urgency. Mary tensed. Chuck wasn't near enough to hear what they said.

"What? Mom, what's wrong."

"Let's go back, Chuck."

"What did they say?"

She swallowed. "They're about to pronounce her. Chuck, you don't want to be in there for-" he plucked the gun from her hand.

"The hell they are. Come on. I need to lean on you."

Chuck burst into the operating room just as the attending physician was saying: "Time of death-"

"Don't you say another goddamn word," he said. "Shock her again."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the guy with the gun. She's not dead. We've come too far. She's a fighter. _Again_. Or you'll be explaining it to her in the afterlife. And she's got nowhere near my sunny disposition."

The tableau held for a second, the high-pitched whine of the heart monitor blaring out a flatline, before the doctor cleared his throat. "Charge to three hundred."

"Charging."

"Clear."

Sarah jumped on the surgical gurney, and lay still. "I told you, it's no use..."

Chuck racked back the hammer on his pistol. "Humor me."

Before they could even manage to shock her again, the heart monitor bleeped. Then again. "I don't believe it..."

"Told you so..." Chuck said. His mother had to catch him when his good leg finally gave out.

* * *

><p>Epilogue:<p>

She was hazy on painkillers, but she knew that feeling well enough to know she was alive. It was something of a shock.

Sarah cracked her eyes open and light poured in. She moaned slightly. Or tried to, instead she made a horrible choking sound, and tried to throw up her lungs. What the hell was going on?

"Relax, Sarah. You're safe. I'm here."

More choking noised instead of words.

"Don't try to talk, you've still got a tube down your throat to help you breathe. But you're gonna be alright."

Finally, the light was more bearable and she could stand to look around through squinted eyes. There was Chuck, at her bedside. She tensed, seeing the cast covering his leg, taking in the wheelchair. Sarah tried to talk again, before she remembered the breathing tube. Chuck winced at the sound. So she mimed writing. Chuck nodded and squeezed her hand. He maneuvered the wheelchair like he'd been doing it for a while, and trundled himself over to a little table, came back and slipped the pencil into her hand, held the pad out steady for her.

Baby okay?

Chuck grinned. "Technically, no. _They__'__re_ fine."

Sarah's eyes widened, and Chuck pulled the pencil out of her hand, tugged the hand up so he could press his lips to the back. "Yup," he said. "Twins."

* * *

><p>Epilogue II:<p>

A knock at Sarah's hospital door preceded two standard CIA suit-wearing bodyguard types. Then finally the guest of honor, newly appointed Acting Deputy Director (Operations) Jane Bentley.

"Before you say anything," Sarah said, bouncing Lisa gently. "We put in our papers yesterday."

"I understand that," Bentley said. "I'm hoping I can change your mind."

"We're done at CIA," Chuck said. "After this whole nightmare, we talked about it. We're done."

"Look I don't need you in field ops. Laura's rehab is coming along nicely. And with Kevin and Jarod on the team, we won't need you in the field. Probably."

"See," Sarah said. "Chuck you owe me a dollar, she couldn't help but add in that probably. We're done."

"Look, with your experience, we really can't afford to lose you. Either of you. We can bump you up the pay scales pretty substantially," Bentley said, which didn't have any noticeable effect. "Anyway, you're both going to be laid up for months anyway. And frankly, both of your wounds are serious enough that they should almost certainly disqualify you from further active field ops. So don't give me your final answer now. Just think about it. See how you feel when you're all the way healed. No field work. Strictly office bound."

"That's what they told Myers, and look what happened there," Chuck said. "No, we're done."

"Also, notice how she said 'almost certainly'? Leaving herself just the teeniest wiggle room so she can drag us back again some day? You owe me another dollar, Chuck."

"Please just think about it," Bentley said. "You haven't even let me tell you the job."

"Okay," Sarah relented. "What's the job?"

She pointed at Sarah. "Station Chief Moscow," the finger shifted to Chuck. "Moscow Station S&T. Full diplomatic cover, diplomatic immunity, both of you. And the kids."

Chuck stole a glance at Sarah, and she was looking at him with that same speculative glint in her eye.

"Don't call us," Sarah said.

"We'll call you," Chuck said. "Maybe."

"Probably not," Sarah said.

Chuck grinned. "Almost certainly not."

THE END

A/N: So, this is it. Thanks everyone for all the reviews. You kept me going on this story and others when I was struggling with writer's block. But, this trilogy: _Themselves__, __Bunker__, __Recruits_, was the story that drove me into Fanfic writing in the first place, now that it's finished, I don't think I've got anything in this arena that I just _have _to write. So, in all probability this is it for me on the Fanfic front. At some nebulous future date however, you might be able to buy books I've written. When this becomes the case my blog will have the details.


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